


Tradition

by IDIC26



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Andorians, Coridan, Coridanites, F/M, Multi, Starfleet, The United Federation of Planets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDIC26/pseuds/IDIC26
Summary: Andorian Commander Tholos Dara and human Doctor Elinor Cameron have very different relationships to their respective cultural traditions, and very different views on issues of family, loyalty, and interaction with off-worlders. Shortly after the founding of the Federation, these two strangers come into contact with one another on the planet Coridan.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 19





	1. Two Roads Lead to Coridan

**Author's Note:**

> Preface:
> 
> As a long-time _Star Trek_ fan, one who spent much of my adolescence reading TOS, TNG and DS9 novels, and who currently enjoys a good fanfiction set in that fictional future universe, I have searched for stories featuring those mysterious blue aliens, the Andorians. With some noticeable exceptions, such stories are few and far between, so I was inspired to write my own. This is a first attempt at fiction-writing on my part – my writing in the past has been solely of an analytical nature – so I ask the reader’s indulgence if it takes me a bit to find my feet, stylistically speaking. I welcome feedback, constructive criticism, and corrections regarding science (I am sure I will make some blunders!) and _Star Trek_ canon. 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> 1\. Although some in _Star Trek_ fanon have created a vision of Andorian biology involving four sexes, and a very complicated procreation process - some of the DS9 novels feature this idea, and the trouble it brings to Andorian society - I’ve never found this interpretation of the idea of quad marriages quite convincing, and have opted for a less biological interpretation here. In my fiction, these marriages are a social response to the incredibly harsh climate of Andoria, in which parents were often killed before their offspring reached maturity. For social stability, as well as the survival of the species, two mated sexual pairs would form a larger social union, or marriage, in which all four parents would be care-givers and have responsibility for all of the offspring, whether their own biological children or not.
> 
> 2\. I have used a variety of sources as inspiration, and am still doing research, but I wanted to get going with my writing, so some things may change in the interim. Influences include the guide to the Andorians published by Last Unicorn Games for their Star Trek Roleplaying Game, various online sources, and Indignant Lemur’s excellent (but unfinished) Andorian fanfiction, _“Émigré,_ ” which can be found on fan fiction.net.
> 
> Acknowledgements:
> 
> A debt of gratitude is owed to Indignant Lemur, for her writing about Andorians, which inspired me to attempt my own.
> 
> I wholeheartedly thank my proof-readers and editors: Casper, Chelsea, Kei and Lisa – you all are the best!

It was a wet and miserable day in South Shengar, one of the most notorious of the impoverished shantytowns that encircled the capital city of Coridan, clinging to the outskirts of that prosperous metropolis as a thief would to his victim's coats. Like most of the outlying districts, Shengar was known for its thieves, but it was also home to the largest black market on the planet, as well as some of the more determined rebel factions - groups whose terror campaigns kept the city on constant alert. There was little activity today however, whether clandestine or otherwise, as the pouring rain and sodden ground kept most of the locals inside their metal-roofed shacks. The narrow alleyways were dark and deserted, save for a single solitary figure, clothed entirely in black, and standing motionless underneath an overhanging metal sheet. Leaning casually against the wall under whose roof he sheltered, the man, whose blue skin and slender antennae marked him as an alien, looked to be lost in thought. Appearances can be deceptive, however, and it would have been a very skilled operative indeed, who could have approached that particular man and taken him unawares.

Commander Tholos Dara of the Imperial Warship Ramat - for that was the name of the blue-skinned stranger - considered himself a traditional Andorian, whatever the demands his keth and calling made upon him. Although it was certainly true that membership in the Ahm Tal often necessitated a certain flexibility of thought, both as to the finer points of honor, and as it concerned interaction with off-worlders, it was equally true that no one willing to undergo the grueling physical and psychological training necessary to join Andoria's elite but secretive intelligence service was anything but totally dedicated to its people and their way of life. Although membership in the service was by its very nature clandestine, a vocation revealed to no one outside of a select few, Tholos suspected that a number of his former commanders in the Imperial Guard were well aware of his double role as soldier and intelligence operative. Certainly Shran, under whom he had served on the Kumari, had to have had some inkling, after the many times his second had brought him useful information about the movements and intentions of their Vulcan enemies - information that had led to some notable triumphs, and not a little trouble for the commander and crew of that loyal ship.

Standing in the growing gloom of evening, with the rain beating a steady tattoo on the metal roof above him, Tholos' antennae fell as he thought of his former ship and her crew, so many of whom had been lost when the Kumari was destroyed by those Romulan cowards, striking from the comfort of their own home world while disguised as Tellarites. The service had a very good idea whom these mysterious, faceless foes were, whatever the state of intelligence in the rest of this 'federation' into which Andoria had been dragged. Were his people's leaders aware that the greatest threat their world currently faced was not unrelated to the one that this new alliance was meant (at least in part) to neutralize? It was ironic, Tholos reflected, that in drawing closer to their traditional Vulcan enemies, Andoria was also being drawn closer to this new foe. There were even those within the service who believed that the Vulcans, acknowledged by their harshest critics as masters of the long game, were secretly working in collaboration with their (supposedly) estranged cousins, as part of some intricate scheme to seize power in the sector.

Shifting slightly, and scanning the nearby alleyways for any sign of the contact he was here to meet, Tholos reflected that it wasn't the place of a guardsman to question his superiors or his orders, nor to doubt the wisdom of Andoria's leaders. That said, within the Ahm Tal - even within Tholos' own keth - there were factions who had greeted the Imperial Council's decision to enter this new interplanetary coalition with anger and a profound suspicion. Talat, his birth mother's mother and one of the hereditary chiefs of Keth Dara, who was widely supposed by Andorian society as a whole to be the head of the service itself, was rumored to be amongst them. For his part, Tholos wasn't entirely sure what to think. Certainly, it was useful, imperative even, that Andoria be involved in any power-sharing alliance that might affect the course of events in their sector of space. If nothing else, membership in the Federation would provide the service with just the kind of cover they needed to keep a better watch on their enemies, as well as on any potential rivals. That said, it was distasteful to be forced into an ever greater intimacy with alien species, particularly ones who had proved as untrustworthy as the Vulcans. As a member of the Ahm Tal it was often necessary to know a great deal about the ways of off-worlders, and to maintain relations with them. How else, after all, was one to gain the knowledge required to protect Andoria from an inevitably hostile universe? But that one should see the gathering of such information as anything other than a duty, a means to an end; that one should mingle willingly with aliens, even regard them as potential allies and friends, was an idea to make the antennae of even the most stoic quiver.

Spirits! Members of Keth Dara, known on his home world for their secretive nature and their talent for covert operations, were reluctant enough to trust other Andorians, let alone members of alien species whose customs, beliefs and very nature might render them unfit to be the companions of any honorable son or daughter of Andor. Tholos' antennae lashed, and his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust, as he considered the people of Coridan, the gray and rainy world on which he currently found himself, once again pursuing the interests of his people amongst these outlandish aliens. The leaders of this world were greedy and corrupt, often enriching themselves at the expense of their own people. Not surprisingly, the planetary government here was hand in glove with the Vulcans, who were, whatever their fine-sounding public professions regarding reason and ethics, interested solely in maintaining the favorable mining concessions they had been granted. The Ahm Tal had been active on Coridan for many years, encouraging the impoverished and discontented populace in their rebellion, often arming factions and groups whose chances of seriously disrupting or even temporarily halting the flow of ore to the Vulcans seemed promising. Tholos couldn't imagine that anyone in the service really believed the rebels had much of a chance of overthrowing their government, nor was it likely that too many Andorians - outside of a few idealists such as Shran - had much sympathy for the Coridanites. That a species would permit outsiders to meddle in their affairs, that they would allow themselves to be manipulated into taking up arms against their own kind by off-worlders - this pointed to such a contemptible weakness that it deserved whatever misery it brought down upon the heads of those who were guilty of it.

No, Tholos didn't sympathize with the wretched denizens of this Andor-forsaken planet, even if they did have a common enemy in the Vulcans. Nor did he enjoy spending time amongst them. There were days when he longed for the comforting cold of his home world, when his desire to return to the ice - as all Andorians did, in the end - was so strong that it was almost an ache at the base of his antennae. The image of the great cavern of the Keth Dara, alight with thousands of torches and filled to capacity with his kin, would rise before him, and the faces of his mothers and fathers would float in his mind, a reminder of everything for which he fought, everything from which his duties so frequently took him. Longing for the home place was as Andorian as ice sailing, but then, so too was putting duty before desire.

Twitching his antennae to clear his mind, Tholos reminded himself that he was here on Coridan to locate a missing member of the service, not to philosophize uselessly about a political decision that had already been made, and that he would have had small chance of influencing, even if it had not. It was imperative that Kelev, dispatched some months before to wrap up a complicated clandestine operation before their new Vulcan "allies" got wind of it, be located quickly, and extracted. All other concerns must for the time being be subordinate to that goal, all distractions and wayward thoughts banished. An Andorian started from where he found himself, didn't devote precious time to agonizing over how things came to be or wishing reality were different than it was, and devoted himself completely to his duty. Tholos was nothing if not thoroughly Andorian...

\-----------------------------------------

The free medical clinic that stood on the border of North and South Shengar had been busier earlier in the day, before the rain - an inevitable daily event in the equatorial region of the planet Coridan - had driven people away. The clinic was an oddity in an area with plenty of drinking holes and brothels, but no schools and few shops. It was rumored that the entire venture, run jointly by an alien doctor from a far-off planet called Earth, and a Coridanite physician from the city itself, had both the approval of the central government and the tacit acceptance of Shengar's dissident factions. Whatever the case might be, the practical Shengari, who, when not engaged in criminal or paramilitary operations, were mostly miners, recognized good fortune when they saw it, and hastened to bring their many injuries and ailments to the attention of these odd do-gooders.

Standing in the vestibule of the clinic and gazing out at the downpour was the alien doctor herself, slim and pale. She might have been taken for a Coridanite, were it not for her unusually light hair, a shade rarely seen on that world. Reflecting on the unlikely path that had brought her, a reserved and somewhat awkward young medical graduate, to this alien world so far from her home planet, Doctor Elinor Cameron was smiling slightly to herself. What, she wondered, would her affluent and powerful family think, if they could see her now, working in a slum the likes of which Earth had not known for some time? Living on an alien planet so many light years from her own world, it might have been supposed that she would feel homesick from time to time. Certainly, there were days when life on Coridan was so strange and alien, so discomforting and difficult, that she found herself wishing for the familiarity of human society. At those moments, however, it was not the thought of her own family, who had made their disapproval of her current endeavor quite clear, nor even any sense of having a real home to return to, that made her long for Earth. Rather, it was the feeling that although she had never really belonged at home, at least with her own kind she understood the rules. It was exhausting, always wondering if you were going to inadvertently give offense, or accidentally transgress against some undreamed-of taboo.

Moving slowly toward the protective metal shutters that rolled down over the clinic's windows, themselves something of an oddity in that district of shacks and hastily constructed lean-tos, Elinor reflected that she had always been rather timid and shy, something her supremely self-confident family had found difficult to understand or accept. She had tried her best to become the sort of child her parents wanted, someone like her elder brother Alex. A brilliant student, star athlete, and all-around social success, whose charismatic personality, good looks, and diverse talents had made him the natural leader in practically everything he'd ever tried, even winning him the sobriquet of 'Alexander the Great' at school, he was the sort of person it would have been easy for a misfit ugly duckling such as herself to dislike, if he hadn't also been rather kind, in his carefree, happy way. He'd understood Elinor no better than their parents - what could a boy like him make of a girl who could barely speak in public, was perfectly hopeless at sports, mediocre as a student, and completely uninterested in the politics and public service for which the Cameron clan were celebrated? - but he had attempted to be supportive, in his way, as she had fumbled through one childhood disaster after another. When he had gone off to Starfleet Academy, life at home had become so unhappy that Elinor had welcomed the prospect of spending her final years of high school at Briarwood Academy.

Grimacing at these memories, Elinor acknowledged to herself that the modest success she had enjoyed in college - success that had in some ways been as much of a surprise to her as it had been to her family - could be laid chiefly at the door of a burning desire to prove herself worthy, once and for all, of the Cameron name. No one else had any notion that her improved scholastic standing had been the result of a single-minded, one might almost say fanatical devotion to her studies, and that it had been bought at the expense of any sort of social life or extracurricular activity. Relentlessly pursuing the dream of being a 'real' Cameron, Elinor had been shocked to discover, in an elective local history course she had taken almost on a whim, that her family's wealth and prominent position in the region were owing in no small part to their involvement in the paramilitary militia that had ruled the area during the chaotic post-atomic period just before First Contact had been made with the Vulcans. Suddenly that long and glorious tradition of public service, of leadership and sacrifice for the greater good, about which she had been hearing for as long as she could remember, had taken on a sinister cast.

It had been a different and darker time, Alex had told her, an unusually serious expression on his face, when she'd confronted him with what she's learnt. Of course he would say something of the sort, she thought, drawing down one of the clinic's metal shutters with far more force than was necessary, and jumping a bit at the loud clanging sound it made. He would say something of that sort, because he had already known, just as they'd all already known. All of them but her. It had seemed a cruel irony to Elinor that in learning more about her family she had only discovered anew how little she knew them, and how set apart from them she felt.

It had been around that time, at just that moment when she had yearned for some way of escaping her persistent feelings of disconnection, that a letter had come from a distant cousin, serving with the Starship Enterprise on her maiden voyage. Jason had written, almost in passing, of a planet called Coridan, a resource-rich world whose population languished in poverty, while its government was manipulated by its stellar neighbors. Reminded of similar episodes from Earth's history, in which powerful nations had fought proxy wars via involvement in the affairs of less fortunate countries, Elinor had felt an instant sympathy for those far-off aliens, of whose existence she had hitherto been completely unaware. How unfair, how dishonest even, it had always seemed to her, that the strong and the powerful, indifferent to the suffering they caused, used the weaknesses of others against them, not because they were the enemy themselves, but because it might indirectly affect their true foe. How much better it would be, and how much more to the credit of the powerful, if they used their strength to aid and protect the weak.

Evening was fast falling, and darkness was dropping down on the Shengars from the surrounding hills. Standing by the final shutter, Elinor realized she had been so lost in thought that she had let time escape her. She would need to hurry, if she was to close up and reach the entrance to the city before curfew. Still she hesitated, thinking of how often she had read and reread Jason's letter while completing her college studies, thinking of how the idea had slowly formed in her mind of doing something, however modest in scope, to help the Coridanites. Like those medical missionaries in centuries past, who had set out to help people in need, with no thought of any return on their 'investment,' with no regard for which side of any conflict they found themselves, perhaps she too could do some good, not just in the world, but in the galaxy. And so the thought of establishing a medical clinic in the impoverished shantytowns outside the Coridanite capital had grown, and had shaped many of her subsequent choices. It had been a surprise to everyone when quiet Elinor Cameron had chosen exobiology as her focus, in medical school, and it had been even more of a surprise when she had announced, shortly after finishing her residency, that she was using her considerable inheritance from her maternal grandmother to set up a medical clinic on a distant, and not entirely stable planet. There had been plenty of opposition, chiefly from her family, and innumerable bureaucratic challenges to overcome, but for once Elinor had carried her point, setting out almost a year before for a new life on Coridan. It was the human way to seek new worlds, and to attempt the impossible - and she was, after all, only human.


	2. Double-Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andorian Commander Tholos Dara and human Doctor Elinor Cameron have very different relationships to their respective cultural traditions, and very different views on issues of family, loyalty, and interaction with off-worlders. Shortly after the founding of the Federation, these two strangers come into contact with one another on the planet Coridan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> As someone fascinated by octopodes and their copper-rich blood, the _Star Trek_ canon information about Vulcan blood - that it appears green because it is copper-based - has recently been bothering me. Although only a detail in my story, I have tried to address this scientific mistake in official canon through my mention of Andorian and Vulcan blood. For a brief but fascinating look at the different shades of blood possible here on Earth, see the _National Geographic_ news story, "In the Animal Kingdom, Blood Comes in a Rainbow of Color," from March 12, 2015.
> 
> Acknowledgement:
> 
> Many thanks to Casper and Chelsea, who gave me feedback on this chapter.

Mareg was late, and Tholos could feel his antennae growing rigid with tension, even as his body loosened, readying itself instinctively for the possibility of ambush or combat. Kelev's long silence was cause enough to be on guard, but the lateness of the hour and the tardiness of a contact who had always been most reliable were also troubling. What in Andor's name, he wondered, could have happened to prevent his fellow operative from completing his mission, and why had he fallen out of contact with his superiors? Kelev, a munitions expert who had served in the Imperial Guard for as long as Tholos, had been dispatched to Coridan months before to retrieve the weapons that the Ahm Tal had supplied to the Rashan, one of the most active rebel factions in the Shengars. Shortly thereafter his communications had ceased, and all efforts to contact him, or to ascertain his current whereabouts, had proven futile.

His eyes narrowing, Tholos' head angled to the side as he heard, through the steady patter of rain, the soft sound of footsteps approaching along the alleyway to the north. They had a cautious, uncertain cadence, as if the person drawing near were pausing every now and again in doubt. Like most Andorians, Tholos had excellent night vision, so the minute the approaching figure came into view, he recognized the man he was here to meet.

"You're late," he said, as soon as the Coridanite drew level with him in the alleyway.

"It was difficult to slip away," Mareg replied. "There are rumors that the city is planning a raid, and Toran has the compound under close guard, as we move our base to another location. Leaving during the daytime, even on a rainy day, would have raised suspicions."

Tholos pondered that for a minute. The self-styled 'general' of the Rashan was just the sort to suspect his own followers of treachery. But then, he had cause to be wary. Not only was the city sure to have spies amongst his men, but the Andorians too, for all that they supplied him with weapons, had paid informants in his camp. It only made sense, the commander mused, to keep multiple chains of communication open, in order to ensure the best information.

"Where is Kelev?," Tholos demanded, cutting straight to the point. "The last communique we had from him indicated that he was about to meet with your general. What happened?"

The informant hesitated, avoiding the Andorian's eyes, and Tholos stiffened. "You will be well compensated for your information," he said, struggling to speak matter-of-factly, and keep the contempt out of his voice. 

As the Coridanite continued to hesitate, it occurred to him that the man might be trying to avoid delivering bad news, rather than angling for better payment. Had something happened to Kelev? Could he be dead, Tholos wondered, his antennae quivering with an unaccustomed feeling of dread, and then straightening out tensely. Despite his long silence, the commander had instinctively believed that his fellow operative was safe, perhaps hidden away somewhere avoiding detection, or waiting on some other party. After all, the man might be overly friendly with aliens from time to time, and absurdly flirtatious toward any Andorian with fully-grown antennae, but Tholos knew from long experience that a cunning strategist and ruthless fighter lurked behind his genial facade. It was always a mistake to underestimate Kelev, as he himself had learnt during their first year in training, when they had been classmates, rivals and occasional playmates. If anything had happened to him, Tholos thought....

"He showed up at the compound one month ago," Mareg finally began, "and met with Toran. He had weapons for us, better than the ones that we'd seen, but he wanted the arms you'd already given us in return." The man hesitated.

"And?" Tholos ground out, thinking he might end up strangling his own informant.

The Coridanite shifted. "Toran had already sold most of the weapons to the leader of a faction in North Shengar. There's a rumor that he owes the Orugan..." here he paused, looking questioningly at the Andorian. Tholos nodded. He was quite familiar with Coridan's largest criminal cabal, who controlled most of the smuggling on the planet, and ran the black market for which the Shengars were known. "Well, he owes them a significant amount," Mareg repeated, "and they say he was desperate for the money. He probably thought you would be willing to give him more weapons, and..."

"So what happened?" Tholos interjected abruptly, impatient to get to the heart of the matter.

"I don't know what was said in the meeting, but after it was over, Toran sent a group of men to follow Kelev, as he left the compound. They must have ambushed him, because my brother found him badly wounded later that night."

Here the informant paused again, and Tholos reflected that it must have been an ambush indeed, if these poorly trained insurgents had managed to take down a warrior such as Kelev. "Where is he now?" he demanded.

"We took him to our home, and have been hiding him from Toran," the Coridanite replied, and Tholos antennae began to relax. "But commander," the man continued, looking straight at the Andorian for the first time, "he's been very ill, and he's getting worse. I think.... I think he's dying."

There was a note of genuine regret in the informant's voice that surprised the commander. "Take me to him," he said briefly, his antennae flattened back against his head in anger. If anything happened to Kelev, he thought grimly, then those responsible would come to regret it. His comrade would not die unavenged.

As the two set off through the warren of dark alleyways, the Coridanite silently leading the way, Tholos found himself thinking of the first time he had met Kelev. They had both been fifteen years old, and prospective recruits in the Imperial Guard. It was considered a great honor amongst Andorians to be a guardsman, and every year the number of applicants far outstripped that of new recruits accepted. After passing a rigorous physical inspection and a series of exhaustive academic exams in subjects ranging from mathematics to military history, the applicants faced the most difficult challenge of all: the Trial of Courage. Assigned a partner, the would-be recruits were given basic provisions and then dropped on the frozen surface of the planet, there to survive on their own for a month. For most of them, raised in Andoria's massive underground cities, it marked their first encounter with the Outside, and their first glimpse of the stars. It had been a harsh but magical experience for Tholos, and Kelev had been his partner.

The trial administrators had chosen well, Tholos reflected, as he walked soundlessly along behind his Coridanite guide, scanning every shack they approached for possible enemies, and every alleyway they passed for potential ambush. The rain continued unabated, the water finding its way inside his uniform, and running down his back in an uncomfortable trickle. He ignored the unpleasant sensation, as he had been trained to ignore all discomfort. Kelev had been unique amongst the applicants, he recalled, in that he had been an Outsider. Living in a narrow equatorial valley system no more than a few kilometers wide, a valley system which provided the sole habitable region on the surface of the planet, the tiny Outsider minority made up less than three percent of the Andorian population. Famous for their independent nature, and celebrated for their outstanding courage, the Outsiders sent representatives to the Kethni Council, but nevertheless stood somewhat apart from others of their kind. In Tholos' own home city, the planetary capital of Lor'Tan, there was an old saying that ran: "An Outsider's praise blooms with the ava'Tan," referencing a rare and greatly valued snow flower that was seen but once a generation, if at all.

Outsiders weren't easily impressed, nor were they likely to be cowed, and it was this very quality, Tholos was convinced, that had led to Kelev's assignment as his trial partner. After all, most Andorians were rather cautious around members of Keth Dara, convinced (and not without cause) that they were the moving force behind the Ahm Tal. The service might fulfill a necessary role in protecting their people, it might even have won the admiration of some, but it was as well, most reasoned, to be cautious around its members. Tholos in particular, as the youngest grandchild of Talat Dara, had had difficulty making friends outside of his own keth. Kelev, despite a sense of levity unusual in an Andorian, and an irreverence that occasionally infuriated Tholos, had been the first...

"We're here, commander," Mareg whispered, coming to a stop at a dismal looking alleyway, narrower even than the one they had been following, and indicating a door halfway down, on the left hand side. Tholos scanned the roofs of the surrounding shacks, while his keen ears listened for any sound of pursuit, or of neighbors moving about. It appeared that they were alone. Gesturing to the Coridanite, the commander followed the man into the alleyway, antennae curling in on themselves in disgust at the rancid smell of the place. The Shengars weren't known for their cleanliness, and had none of those amenities - running water, waste disposal - taken for granted in the city. Stepping around a pile or garbage, and who knew what else, the Andorian came to a halt as his guide began unlocking his door. Did he really live here, Tholos wondered - couldn't he do better than this, with the money the Ahm Tal paid him? Pushing that thought away, he stepped carefully through the small doorway and into the room beyond, glancing around quickly for his friend. The single-room shack was empty. 

"Where is Kelev?" he demanded of his companion, his voice taking on the sibilant sound of an enraged Andorian, his hand instinctively reaching for his hrisal. "What have you done with him?"

\-----------------------------------------

Closing the last shutter, Elinor realized with a start that it was even later than she'd imagined. Dr. Togar, her Coridanite partner, had long since left for his home in the city, and Connor, her nurse, clinic assistant, and all-around handyman, who always insisted on accompanying her on the journey to and from the city, looked eager to be off himself. Connor Dowd was a miracle, she acknowledged to herself, and no minor one at that. A trained nurse, competent mechanic, and martial arts enthusiast, he had proved invaluable over the last year, providing assistance in countless areas in which Elinor had not even anticipated needing help. She had wondered a bit, when first reading his application, that the friendly Irishman had wanted to work so far from home, but it turned out that Connor was a Boomer, born and raised for his first twelve years on the interstellar cargo ship where his parents worked. It was only in his adolescence that his family had returned to their native land. A part of him was always yearning after the stars, he'd told her with a grin during his interview, "And sure," he'd said, a twinkle in his eye, "there are a few Travelers, far back in the family tree, so we come by our wanderlust naturally."

Jolted out of her reverie by a loud banging on the clinic door, Elinor turned startled eyes to her assistant.

"I'll get it, Doc," he said in his pleasant Irish lilt, moving toward the front door of the clinic. The banging came again, louder and more insistent. Perhaps it was the sudden noise after such a quiet day, but Elinor had a moment of panic as the nurse moved toward the entrance, fearful of what could be on the other side of the door. Shaking off her jitters, she reminded herself that she was a doctor, and that any emergency landing on her doorstep was likely to be medical in nature. As Connor opened the door, she had an impression of a group of men huddled outside the front vestibule, and then they were bustling in, two burly Coridanites supporting a slim Andorian between them. Momentarily at a loss, in the bright lights of the clinic, the men blinked like owls as they looked about the front waiting room uncertainly.

"This way," Elinor said, indicating the door behind her, leading to the main examination room. The unconscious Andorian the men were carrying was obviously very ill, his normally blue skin pale and sickly white, his antennae collapsed limply against the sides of his head. Laying their burden on her examination table with surprising care, the two Coridanite men stepped back, the taller one looking at her and saying briefly, "He's not well, Doctor. We hoped you'd take a look."

"Of course, Garam," she said, using the customary Coridanite term of respect for an unrelated male. The man who had spoken titled his head, as if taken aback at her mode of address, and then nodded. Elinor had noticed that the Shengari who visited her clinic always paused a second or two, as if in surprise or confusion, when she used the polite titles she had been taught in her introductory course on Coridanite language and culture. They were rough miners, many of them, dressed in worn and shabby clothing so unlike the elegant raiment of their city counterparts, and their hands were often permanently stained from handling ore. Did they find her politeness a ridiculous city affectation, she sometimes wondered, something no self-respecting Shengari would indulge in, or were they simply surprised to find themselves treated with courtesy by a resident of the great metropolis? Perhaps those forms of address were only used by some sections of Coridanite society, or perhaps she simply wasn't using them in the correct way. She would have to ask Dr. Togar for his thoughts on the matter. In the meantime, no doubt the locals attributed any oddities in her behavior to the fact that she was so clearly an alien. Pushing these thoughts resolutely aside, Elinor walked to the table, taking out her scanner.

"What happened?" she asked, addressing herself to the man who had spoken first to her, and beginning to examine her patient.

"He was attacked," the man replied. "We found him to the south of here," he continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand, "and took him in. At first he seemed to improve, but then he became ill. He has been feverish for many days."

Knowing she was unlikely to get any more details - the Shengari were notoriously close-mouthed around outsiders, and this injured alien was likely to bring nothing but trouble to those discovered harboring him - Elinor continued with her scans, noting that the information being relayed by the device only confirmed her own observations. The man's injuries were appalling, and looked to be complicated by infection and fever. At some point he had been exposed to particle weapons-fire, and had also been badly beaten, and then stabbed multiple times with sharp blades. The pattern of bruises and lacerations seemed to indicate that he had been lying prone when attacked, so perhaps he had been stunned by phaser-fire beforehand. Elinor's lips tightened at that idea, and she had to steady her hands as she thought of someone beating the man before her, while he lay helpless on the ground. The Andorian's wounds had been treated, after a fashion, but they were terribly infected, and the flesh around them had begun to decay, giving off an unpleasant odor that was detectable when standing close by. His skin was clammy and moist to the touch, something highly unusual in his species, and his temperature was far above what it should be. Her patient was in very bad shape, and Elinor realized with a sense of panic that she wasn't entirely sure she could help him. She'd never actually treated an Andorian before, although she had studied his species in her exobiology course.

Taking a deep breath, Elinor reminded herself that she'd come halfway across the sector, to a strange planet light years from home, explicitly to give medical aid to aliens she had never before set eyes on. So what if this wasn't the kind of alien that she'd had in mind? She was a doctor, and this man needed her help. Looking up at Connor, who had come quietly into the examination room with her, she came to a decision:

"We need to clean his wounds Connor, and assess the internal damage more closely." Taking out a hypospray, she administered a painkiller, and then a respiratory agent to aid the Andorian with his shallow breathing, before turning to her assistant. "Let's get him into the back recovery room, and get these dirty clothes and old bandages off."

"We'll be after missing curfew tonight, Doc," the Irishman said calmly, carefully lifting his blue-skinned charge and making his way to the back.

"It can't be helped," Elinor replied, following along behind him, "this man will die if we don't see to him immediately." Turning back to the Coridanites, who had followed them out of the examination room, she asked: "Will you be staying? You are welcome to wait here," gesturing to the waiting area behind them.

"We cannot stay, Ganar," the first man said, "but we will come again, if we may, to see about his progress." Elinor flushed. She had been told that 'Ganar' was an archaic courtesy word no longer in use in modern Coridanite society. It translated roughly as "honored lady."

"What is your name?" she asked the man, "where can I send you news?"

He smiled slightly. "It is better for us to come to you." With a nod, he turned, and the two Coridanites left the way they had come.

The Andorian was well and truly her responsibility now, Elinor thought, turning to join Connor in the recovery room. Divested of his clothes, with his bandages stripped away, her patient was a terrible sight. Covered in deep cobalt bruises that stood out all the more dramatically due to his pallor, his knife wounds showed clear skin and flesh loss. The scans had revealed rampant fungal infection, something that came as no surprise to Elinor, who had treated countless Shengari over the past year for similar issues. The wet, humid climate of Coridan made fungal problems ubiquitous, and Andorians, whose frozen homeworld was inhospitable to such organisms, would have little natural immunity.

"Clean and disinfect his wounds," Elinor instructed Connor, "and then treat them with topical anti-fungals. We'll use hypospray injection and radiation treatment to address the internal infection."

The nurse nodded, a grim expression on his face, and set to work. Joining him, Elinor reflected to herself that the fungal infections were just the tip of the iceberg. Andorians often had a very poor reaction to phase injuries, with necrotic flesh loss around the area of impact. It was clear from the state of this man's wounds that the infection and resultant necrosis had spread to his other injuries as well. She needed to cut away the dead flesh immediately, before the infection destroyed any more tissue, and before it spread to his internal organs - assuming that it hadn't already. It was also imperative that the patient be put on dialysis as soon as possible, in order to remove the infection from the bloodstream. He would need a transfusion, possibly more than one. Not only had he lost a great deal of blood in the attack upon him, but his subsequent illness had weakened his entire system. Phase-related infection had the effect of drastically reducing the level of vital oxygen-carrying molecules in Andorian blood, so even if the dialysis were successful, his system would need an influx of healthy blue blood soon.

Elinor stopped short in her mental catalogue of the patient’s injuries and illnesses, as an appalling realization dawned upon her. She had no way of obtaining the necessary Andorian blood, or anything that might conceivably be used to synthesize it. She certainly didn’t have a supply of it on hand, and as far as she knew, there was no official Andorian presence on the planet, so it would be difficult to track down a donor. Like humans, Coridanites were red-blooded, with an iron-based hemoglobin-like molecule carrying oxygen through their system. The unusual blue blood of Andorians, by contrast, used copper-based hemocyanin to perform that function. Like the octopodes of Earth, whose blood also ran blue, the Andorians’ copper-rich blood was an adaptation to the extreme cold of their environment, as well as to the low oxygen levels in the deep cavernous settlements in which they had evolved. Ironically, given the historic hostility between the two species, Vulcan blood was the closest to Andorian, of all the peoples catalogued by the Interspecies Medical Conference. They shared a common copper-based chemical composition, although the green blood of Vulcans contained additional components that gave it its distinctive hue.

Reminding herself that she had no better access to Vulcan blood than she did to Andorian – and that Vulcan blood would hardly solve the problem, in any case – Elinor realized with a sinking heart that she would need to address the issue of blood supply, if she hoped to save her patient. But how? Was it possible to buy it on the black market, she wondered, before dismissing the idea as an impractical one. She wouldn’t have the first idea how to even get in touch with someone involved in the Shengars’ illicit trade, and it didn’t seem likely that they would have what she needed on hand. She might be able to route a message to the Andorian embassy on Earth through her personal correspondence with a family member back home, but it was bound to take more time than she had. Sighing in frustration, as she worked with Connor to finish up with the initial cleaning of the wounds, Elinor turned to pick up her hypospray, and almost screamed aloud.

Standing in the doorway to the recovery room – she had left the clinic door unlocked, she realized with a feeling of terror – was another Andorian. Stone-faced, he looked at her, his antennae unmoving, before his eyes turned to the figure on the table...


	3. Sparks Fly Upward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andorian Commander Tholos Dara and human Doctor Elinor Cameron have very different relationships to their respective cultural traditions, and very different views on issues of family, loyalty, and interaction with off-worlders. Shortly after the founding of the Federation, these two strangers come into contact with one another on the planet Coridan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preface:
> 
> Although I have adopted some Andorian terminology from other sources, I have not always defined specific terms in the same way as those sources have done. I have also added a significant amount of vocabulary of my own. I am trying to build an internally consistent linguistic structure with my Andorian vocabulary, and every word I use has a meaning. At some point, I am thinking of putting together a glossary of terms, and appending it to one of my chapters.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> The idea that the Andorian circulatory system contains few or no veins derives from the original series episode, _Whom Gods Destroy_ , in which an Andorian patient must be given an inter-muscular injection, rather than an intravenous one.
> 
> Acknowledgements:
> 
> I give many thanks to Casper and Chelsea for looking over this chapter, and giving me their feedback.

He stood frozen at the doorway of the medical chamber, his eyes locked on Kelev. Naked and still, with the white pallor of death about him, his slender body covered in wounds only recently cleaned, his broken skin anointed with some sort of cream that smelled of herbs, his comrade and friend looked like one of the Ushaan'los, the honorably fallen. Tholev had looked so, after he had been slain in the Ushaan, and Tholos felt as if he were a young boy again, standing in his family's val'nor, and watching as the battered body of his elder brother was prepared for his final Rite of Honor. All the members of Keth Dara, save those lost to the cold darkness of space, left the family stronghold for the last time through the doors of the val'nor, borne off to the vast ice caverns where they were laid to their final rest.

Tholos had been truly frozen once, on a hunting trip to the Northern Wastes. Separated from his companions, with night falling fast and the temperature dropping, he had sought shelter in a nearby ice cavern, but had been too late. It had been an oddly peaceful experience, feeling his body stiffen around him, as he slipped into a kind of restful paralysis. He had been conscious the whole time, awake inside his motionless body, and waiting for the dawn. This current stillness had none of the calmness of that earlier experience. Tholos felt as if he should move. There were things he needed to do, questions he needed to ask. Weren't there? He stood frozen instead, trapped in a world of memory, the sorrows of the past rising up like shadows in his mind, while the world around receded. His body was still, but he was not at rest. With a shock, he realized that he had slipped into the lor'val, a powerful grief state that sometimes gripped Andorians, incapacitating them for brief periods. What had his professor once said? That biology was destiny, and that Andorians, always vulnerable to the physical after-effects of their visceral emotions, were better served by avoiding too much personal introspection.

The small human woman in the room before him - the doctor of whom Mareg had spoken, no doubt - was saying something, but although he registered the sounds she was making, they were meaningless to him. Her cadence was musical, with a little lilting lift in her words that he found curious but soothing. The woman came to stand in front of him, a look of concern on her face, speaking again. Tholos found himself examining her, as if from a great distance. Her coloring was unusual, he thought, with her pale pink skin, bright blue eyes, and deep golden hair. It reminded him of something, but what? She laid a tentative hand on his arm, and it was as if she had broken a spell. Tholos breathed in deeply, no longer frozen, no longer deaf, and looked down at the woman's hand in surprise. How had she done that? he wondered. There was something familiar about the feeling of her hand on him, but he couldn't place it. Perhaps a residual effect of the lor'val, he thought, twitching his antennae to clear his head.

"Are you unwell?" the woman asked, clearly repeating a question she had already posed. Flushing a little under his suddenly focused gaze, she removed her hand from his arm. Perhaps she felt she had committed an impropriety, he thought idly, recalling that her species, unlike Andorians, were sometimes shy about personal touch.

"I am fine," he answered briefly, his eyes moving again to Kelev, lying motionless on the medical bed, another pink-skin standing beside him. "Your patient..?" he enquired, unable to formulate his question.

"Are you his friend?" the doctor asked in return, face lighting up with some emotion - relief? happiness? - that Tholos couldn't quite read. "He is in very bad shape," she continued in her musical tones, without waiting for a reply, "and I have been in something of a quandary, in considering his treatment."

Humans were really rather trusting, he thought, unaccountably angry at the idea of this small woman simply assuming he was a friend, and no threat to her and her patient. "We are comrades," he said simply, glancing back at the table where the second pink-skin, a male, stood quietly watching him. There was something about the man's stance, and his attentive, focused calmness, which made Tholos think of a warrior, internally readying himself for battle. They couldn't all be naive do-gooders, he thought with a sneer, recalling that his past encounters with their species had taught him that although they were impetuous, and often ill prepared, they also had a tendency toward the unexpected, and a surprising ability to defy expectations. No doubt these humans had an agenda, just as he had his own ends to pursue...

"Will he live?" he asked, voicing the concern uppermost in his mind.

The woman hesitated, looking at him searchingly for a moment before turning toward Kelev. "I am not sure," she said softly, an expression of sadness - or was it uncertainty? - flitting across her face. Looking up at him again, she continued with more force, "but we will do everything we can to help him. I am Doctor Elinor Cameron, and this is my assistant, Connor Dowd."

Tholos dipped his antennae briefly at the male, before responding to the doctor in kind: "Commander Tholos, of the Imperial Guard. I am here to retrieve your patient, Commander Kelev. What can you tell me about his condition?"

"His wounds are significant, Commander," the doctor began, motioning to her assistant to continue with his work. Tholos noted with approval that the man positioned himself in such a way that he could carry on treating Kelev, without turning his back either on him or on Dr. Elinor. The human male obviously had a degree of situational awareness, and the commander found himself oddly relieved that the doctor, who clearly had nothing of the sort, hadn't been left entirely unprotected in this dangerous locale.

"We're applying anti-fungal cream at the moment," she continued, "and will follow up shortly with some internal treatments. But I'm much more concerned about his phase-related infection, which appears to have spread throughout his system."

Here Tholos interrupted: "He was hit with a particle weapon?"

"Yes, Commander..."

"How often?"

"Only once, that I can see, but the resultant infection and necrosis has spread to his other wounds..."

"What caused his other wounds?"

"He appears to have been attacked with a bladed weapon, and stabbed multiple times. He was also beaten with some sort of blunt object."

Tholos observed that the doctor looked unsettled, relating these details, almost as if they were causing her physical distress. "The beating occurred after he was incapacitated by the particle weapon, in your opinion?"

"Yes. He would most likely have been unconscious." 

The commander dipped his antennae. This tallied with Mareg's description of an ambush, and with his own knowledge of Kelev's fighting skills. It was foolish not to have anticipated such an ambush, but even the best warriors made mistakes upon occasion.

"I should begin treating the phase infection immediately," the doctor continued, "but Commander Kelev will need a number of transfusions, and I have no supply of Andorian blood on hand, here at the clinic. Would you be willing to donate, Commander?"

Tholos hesitated. The human doctor looked up at him expectantly, clearly anticipating an answer in the affirmative. Perhaps it was the custom amongst her kind to give blood freely to whoever was in need, with no thought for the identity of either recipient or donor. Such a reckless practice would be in keeping with her species' seeming desire to befriend the entire quadrant. For Andorians however, the sharing of blood was a more complicated affair. The ancient rituals governing kinship and honor were still observed by most of his people, and to openly give blood to any individual outside of one's own keth was an action that could be interpreted in only one way, and that could lead to only one possible outcome. To mingle blood was to become blood kin. By offering his blood, the donor was inviting the recipient into his keth, with all of the rights, protections, and obligations that that entailed. By accepting the blood of another, the recipient agreed to become a part of that individual's keth, to pledge loyalty to it, and to uphold its honor in the complicated arena of Andorian kethni politics.

There was a reason that blood donations had been strictly anonymous on his planet for centuries now, and that the entire process was shrouded in an absolute secrecy scrupulously guarded by the Medical Guild. The consequences of an open blood exchange gone wrong were often dire. Whether the blood recipient refused to accept his new role in his second, adoptive keth, or the blood donor's keth refused to accept its new member, the resultant loss of honor on all sides inevitably led to violence, ranging from interpersonal strife and conflict, possibly even the declaration of the Ushaan between donor and recipient, to the invocation of the dreaded blood feud between the keths of those involved. Blood feuds had been officially outlawed on his home world for many centuries - indeed, the Ushaan itself had initially been meant to limit and contain the destructive potential of Andoria's seemingly endless internecine conflicts - but when it came to matters of honor, many of his people had a somewhat flexible interpretation of the law. Unofficial blood feuds, in which members of warring keths found pretexts to challenge one another to single combat in the Ushaan, still cropped up from time to time, and required the mediation of the Kethni Council.

"Commander?" the doctor prompted, an uncertain look on her face.

Tholos stirred uneasily, conscious that he needed to make a decision. His gaze shifted to Kelev, lying so pale and death-like on the medical bed. Outsiders were notorious for being particularly touchy about their independent status as surface dwellers. Would his friend and comrade welcome the idea of joining Keth Dara, particularly if the decision were made without his input? Many in-dwelling Andorians would hesitate to accept such an offer, mindful that loyalty to the Dara might conflict with their existing obligations to their birth keth. Surely an Outsider would feel this even more acutely? Of course Kelev was already a guardsman and a member of the Ahm Tal, both vocations that required loyalty to a larger, pan-kethnic identity, so perhaps his friend would adjust. But what of Keth Dara? Talat and the other Dara elders might have harsh words for a keth-son who made such a choice without first consulting them, and obtaining their blessing. His kinsmen had difficulty trusting even the members of Keth Idrani, Andoria's foremost warrior keth, and their coalition partners in government these last two millennia. How would they feel about a son of Keth Adana, a member of a group who made it plain that they considered themselves outsiders in more than just name?

Suddenly impatient with himself, and with this uncharacteristic waffling, Tholos shook his antennae vigorously. The facts were these: Kelev would die without his blood. The other man was unquestionably loyal to Andoria, and to the Ahm Tal. And perhaps most importantly of all, Tholos already regarded him as a brother, even if they had not exchanged blood. If Talat or the other elders were angry at his choice, he thought suddenly, he could always tell them that the Outsider was his intended co-husband. After all, they had once been playmates, in that adolescent period when Andorians were encouraged to experiment sexually, before eventually settling down, and as a member of his quad, Kelev would have eventually become a member of Keth Dara anyway.

Turning to the doctor, he said: "I will donate the necessary blood."

\--------------------------

Their antennae were fascinating, Elinor thought, almost dizzy from trying to track and catalogue the dancing movements of those slender appendages. She had been terrified by her first glimpse of Commander Tholos, standing at the entrance to the recovery room, his antennae as still and unmoving as his face. His slim, black-clad figure had given the impression of elegance, and of power, reminding Elinor of a ballet dancer she had once seen, waiting silently in the wings for that moment when he would burst out upon the stage and command the attention of the entire theater. He had a stern, almost harsh-looking face, all sharp angles and austere expression, and Elinor had thought with a shiver that he seemed as if he were carved out of blue ice. Transfixed, she had waited for the stranger to speak, the silence stretching out in an agonizing way.

It had taken her a moment to realize that he was transfixed as well, gazing at the half-dead Andorian on the treatment table, an unreadable expression on his face. Elinor knew that his species expressed emotion largely through their antennae, but that had not prepared her for the blankness of the man's face, nor for how at a loss it made her feel not to have any little clues she could recognize, in deciphering his mental state. Swallowing audibly, she glanced briefly at Connor, who looked tense and alert, ready to intervene. Knowing how protective her assistant could be, and well aware that Andorians had a reputation for being fierce fighters, Elinor stepped into the breach.

"Are you here for the patient?" she asked tremulously, very much aware that her hands were sweaty and trembling, and that her voice had an embarrassing squeak in it. "You are welcome to come in," she continued, gesturing vaguely around the room. The black-clad stranger's total lack of response was unnerving, until it occurred to Elinor that he simply hadn't heard her. Was he in some sort of shock? she wondered, realizing anew that although her exobiology course in medical school had covered the basics, there was still so much she didn't know about Andorian biology.

"Careful, Doc," Connor warned softly as she moved closer to the motionless intruder.

"Are you unwell?" she asked, trying to speak calmly and soothingly. The man's gaze shifted to her, but he did not respond in any other way. Carefully and gently, as one would with a wounded animal that might prove dangerous if startled, she laid a hand on his arm. An odd tremor ran through him at her touch, and Elinor was surprised to find that the shiver of movement continued into her own arm, as if it were a wave moving through her. The sensation was odd, but not unpleasant. What was that? she wondered, before pushing the question aside to concentrate on the stranger in front of her.

"Are you unwell?" she asked again, as the man seemed to come alive underneath her hand, breathing in deeply and focusing on her in a way he had not done before. As if released from some sort of paralysis, the Andorian suddenly looked much less blank, his antennae swiveling toward her and his face taking on a sneering, almost saturnine appearance. If he had looked intimidating before, the man now appeared positively dangerous, and Elinor found herself trembling under his suddenly sharp gaze and his sharper questions. His rapid-fire interrogation made her feel flustered and incompetent, although she understood his sense of urgency, and did her best to answer his inquiries.

Her initial relief at the appearance of a second Andorian - here was a possible source for the blood her patient so desperately needed! - soon gave way to silent consternation at Commander Tholos' evident reluctance to donate. What on earth should prevent him? she wondered to herself with indignant amazement, only to recall with chagrin that she wasn't on Earth anymore, nor anywhere near it. Who could say what motivated this blue-skinned alien, with his fierce-looking face and brusque manner, to do or not do anything? Perhaps Tholos and Commander Kelev were not on good enough terms for an exchange of blood, or perhaps the practice violated some warrior code about which she knew nothing. It was impossible to say.

"I will donate the necessary blood," he said, after long moments of silent consideration, and Elinor let out a breath she hadn't even been conscious of holding.

"Very well, Commander," she replied, trying not to show how relieved she was at his decision. "I think it would be best to take some now, and then perhaps more at a later time. I have a small stasis unit where I can store the blood, while we work on treating Commander Kelev's wounds, and prepare him for dialysis." Elinor turned, already planning out the steps she would need to take for this unusual blood donation procedure. It would be necessary to use a scalpel to make an incision in the commander’s skin, as the Andorian circulatory system contained very few veins, and needles would be of little use. Would a standard surgical scalpel suffice? she wondered, or should she use the laser scalpel? Intent on this question, and on getting the vials she needed, Elinor only belatedly realized that Connor was frozen in place, gaze fixed on the Andorian behind her. Turning again, she saw with alarm that the man had drawn a wicked-looking dagger, and, putting it down on a nearby supply table, was rolling up his sleeve. Surely he didn't intend to use his knife...?

"If you'll let me get a medical scalpel, Commander..," she said faintly, trailing off as he looked up at her, his expression almost satirical.

"This will be sufficient, Doctor Elinor," he had replied, and then, perhaps thinking that she might require further clarification, he continued: "in blood exchanges it is customary to use one's own hrisal."

"It's Doctor Cameron," Connor said unexpectedly from behind her, his usually friendly voice cool and somewhat clipped. The commander paused, his antennae cocked toward her assistant in an almost speculative way, and Elinor wondered in alarm if the nurse's statement constituted some sort of insult or challenge.

"It's not that important," she had assured Tholos, whose antennae had swiveled back toward her, and curved in on themselves in such a way that she was reminded of a question mark. He regarded her in silence for a minute, and Elinor wondered if he found her to be as much of a challenge to decipher as she did him.

"Among Andorians, the correct form of address is considered essential," he replied matter-of-factly. "I ask forgiveness for my error, Doctor Cameron."

Flustered at this apology, delivered without inflection, and with no hint of a sneer, Elinor nodded her head. "The important thing is to help Commander Kelev," she replied, walking over to the supply cabinet to hide her embarrassment. She had always found conflict intensely uncomfortable, going out of her way to avoid situations that might lead to tension. The idea of telling the fierce-looking Andorian commander that he had gotten her name wrong would simply never have occurred to her, and she was a little surprised that her usually easy-going assistant had felt strongly enough about it to have done so himself. Collecting the vials she would need, she set them down on the counter and inserted her hands into the tabletop decontamination unit. Connor appeared beside her, with the topical anti-fungals he had been using on their patient.

"If you've finished with his wounds," she said, turning to her assistant, "let's administer forty ccs of idrazole, and get the portable radiation device ready. I'll begin excising the necrotic tissue as soon as I've collected Commander Tholos' blood. Can you bring the laser scalpel in? I believe it's in the external utility shed."

"Of course, Doc," the nurse replied, but stood hesitating all the same. Realizing that the man was reluctant to leave her alone with Tholos, she gave his arm a reassuring pat, before gently pushing him toward the door. Turning to the Andorian, Elinor discovered that he was watching them carefully, eyes tracking Connor as he made his way to the door.

"We keep certain items, like the laser scalpel, in the outside utility shed, where we have a better security system," she hastened to explain. "Anything that might be used as a weapon, like the scalpel, or anything that might be particularly tempting to thieves, is kept locked up when not in use."

"You are... unarmed?" the commander asked slowly, as if attempting to grasp an unfamiliar concept. "How do you ensure your safety here? The Shengars can be a dangerous place."

"We're here to help people, not fight them," Elinor replied, flushing a bit at the way the commander's antennae suddenly straightened out - in alarm, she wondered, or just surprise? - at her words. "We have no need of weapons."

"Your assistant is armed," Tholos observed, his blue lips curling in a sneer.

"Connor? Whatever makes you think that?" she asked in surprise.

"You can see it in the way he carries himself," the Andorian replied briefly, his tone making it plain that he thought it was obvious. "Shall we begin, Doctor?" he continued, picking up his curved dagger. "How much blood will you need?"

Disoriented by the rapid change of topic - was Connor really armed? she wondered a little wildly - Elinor paused for a minute before replying. "With humans we usually take around 450 milliliters. As Andorians have roughly the same volume of blood, we'll start there for now."

Dipping his antennae in acknowledgement, Tholos made a brief incision in his forearm, cutting length-wise down the center. His face impassive, his antennae still, he looked down at the blue blood welling up from the wound before turning to Commander Kelev. Bowing his antennae, he spoke aloud: "I offer this blood for my brother. May I live in him, and he in me."

Turning back to Elinor, he held out his arm to her. Taking a vial, she pressed it to the lower end of the incision, watching as the beautiful blue substance, which had an almost pearl-like radiance to it, filled the glass container. Swapping the full vial out for an empty one, Elinor glanced up at the commander's face, and immediately wished she hadn't. He was looking down at her, his antennae curved forward and fixed upon her, his face relaxed, almost pleasant. Conscious of their proximity, and embarrassed by Tholos' frank, assessing gaze, she blushed furiously. The hand holding the vial trembled, and the commander reached out, putting his cool hand over hers and steadying it. She shivered, remembering that the mean Andorian body temperature was somewhat below the norm for humans.

"You will come to no harm through me, Doctor Cameron," the commander said, that satirical look, midway between a smirk and a sneer, back on his face.

"Of course not, Commander," Elinor replied a little breathlessly, blushing even more deeply, and furious at her seeming inability to control her own reactions to the blue-skinned alien. Why did she always seem to feel most flustered around people who were themselves so confident and collected, people who no doubt had not even a passing acquaintance with embarrassment or insecurity? Everyone knew that Andorians respected strength, and despised weakness! Why couldn't she appear more in control? she wondered helplessly. 

Finishing up with the last vial, she walked over to the counter, opening the door of the stasis unit and carefully placing the glass containers in their proper places. Grabbing a tube of anti-fungal cream and an antiseptic bandage, she turned around to find Tholos already rolling down his sleeve. 

"I need to treat and bandage your incision, Commander," she said.

"That won't be necessary, Doctor," he replied.

"I cannot agree. Fungal infections are quite common here on Coridan - just look at the state of Commander Kelev's wounds! I couldn't possibly let you leave with an untreated open wound, no matter the size." When the Andorian merely cocked an antenna at her in reply, Elinor walked over to stand in front of the door, arms crossed in front of her. "Please roll your sleeve up, Commander," she said, attempting to sound calm and in command of the situation.

"Are all pink-skins this fussy?" he asked almost teasingly, slowly moving to comply.

"No, some of us are just as stubborn as you," she shot back, hardly daring to believe her own boldness. "Are all Andorians this foolhardy?"

"Yes," he replied succinctly, his antennae wiggling in such a way that Elinor suspected he was laughing at her. She humphed softly, moving to treat his incision. Just as she was finishing up with the bandage, the commander looking on with a curious but somewhat detached air, Connor walked in with the radiation unit and the scalpel.

"We'll be all set up in a moment, Doc," he said, eyes scanning the pair before him, as if assessing whether anything untoward had occurred in his absence. Tholos pulled his sleeve down, and walked over to the treatment table. "How long until I am able to move Kelev, Doctor?" he asked, looking over at Elinor.

"I'm not sure, Commander," she replied. "He definitely cannot be moved right now, and probably not for at least a week, unless you have a clean medical environment to which you can transfer him."

The Andorian was silent for a moment, clearly weighing the options as he gazed down at his comrade. When he spoke, it was with a reluctance that seemed somehow out of character for a man obviously used to command. "I cannot leave him here," he began, looking up at Elinor's sharply indrawn breath. Before she had a chance to object to the idea of her patient being moved, however, Connor unexpectedly laid a gentle hand on her forearm, shaking his head minutely at her.

"We could convert the external utility shed into a treatment room," the nurse said calmly. "No one would need to know that Commander Kelev was here."

The two men exchanged a long look. It was as if they were communicating silently with one another, thought Elinor. "What about the Coridanite doctor who works here with you?" Tholos asked. 

"He rarely goes out to the shed," the Irishman replied, the beginnings of a smile in his eyes. "I'm usually the one who fetches supplies, and it is a part of my duties to keep the shed in order.”

Tholos considered this in silence for a moment, gazing at Connor in an assessing way. The nurse stood calmly looking back, waiting for a decision. “If you can assure me that the Coridanite will not be made aware of his presence, I will leave Kelev here until he can be moved,” he said at last.

To Elinor’s surprise, the Irishman nodded. “Agreed. We won’t tell him a thing.”

“Doctor?” the commander asked, as if wanting her assurance as well.

“We treat many people without any thought of alerting the authorities, or anyone else,” she said. “Dr. Togar is a committed healer and a compassionate man, but if keeping the commander’s presence from him will convince you to leave your colleague in our care, then I agree.”

Tholos dipped his antennae at her, as if in acknowledgement. “I will return tomorrow or the day after to check on Kelev,” he said, turning toward the door.

“But Commander,” Elinor burst out, suddenly realizing that in all the discussion they had not addressed the issue of the men who had attacked her patient. “What if the men who assaulted Commander Kelev come looking for him again? Can we be sure that they are unaware of his location?”

The blue-skinned commander paused at the door, looking back at her, and Elinor trembled at the expression on his face. He looked utterly ruthless, like a man who would not draw back from any harsh act in the pursuit of his own ends. “You need not be concerned, Doctor,” he said softly, his words taking on a certain sibilant quality that was equal parts mesmerizing and terrifying. “The dishonorable criminals who ambushed Commander Kelev won’t live long enough to try their cowardly handiwork on any other.” With that, he dipped his antennae a final time toward the two humans, and turned and walked out the door.


	4. Shadows in the Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andorian Commander Tholos Dara and human Doctor Elinor Cameron have very different relationships to their respective cultural traditions, and very different views on issues of family, loyalty, and interaction with off-worlders. Shortly after the founding of the Federation, these two strangers come into contact with one another on the planet Coridan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> My main Andorian character, Tholos, appears in two episodes of _Star Trek: Enterprise_ \- _The Andorian Incident_ and _Shadows of P'Jem_ \- both of which occur in the first season. In this chapter, Tholos thinks back to his first meeting with humans, which happened in _The Andorian Incident_. I wanted to account for his less-than-admirable actions there in a believable way, but one that would also be consistent with my development of his character.
> 
> _Acknowledgements_ :
> 
> Thank you to my proof-readers, editors, and all-around supporters - Casper, Chelsea and Olivia! You guys are the best!

The rain had stopped by the time Tholos emerged from the medical clinic, but the nighttime air was still redolent with moisture. A thick fog had settled over the Shengars, shrouding everything in a disorienting white mist that muffled sound and disguised shape. The clinic stood in a small hollow on the border between the north and south parts of the district, not far from the banks of a murky river that ran out from the city and down to the nearby sea. When there was fog, it was always particularly dense here. The commander grimaced in distaste at the feeling of the humid air on his antennae and skin. On Andoria, water was chiefly to be found in its frozen state, as ice or snow, although there were the occasional underground hot springs, kept active by the planet's abundant geothermal energy. Still, there was nothing at all akin to this cool, moderate moisture that settled on the skin like a wet film, clinging in such a way that it was not to be escaped or dislodged.

Standing just outside the gates of the clinic's compound, waiting once again for Mareg to join him, Tholos dismissed his discomfort with a flick of an antenna. Behind him, inside the walls of the clinic, his comrade's life hung in the balance. Andorians rarely recovered from phase-related infection, once it set in, and he had never seen a case worse than Kelev's. Be that as it may, now that he had shared his blood, there was nothing more that he could do for his friend and newfound brother, save leave him in the hands of Dr. Cameron and her assistant, and hope for the best. The doctor was an odd mix of timidity and firmness - nothing at all like an Andorian woman, he reflected - but she seemed competent enough. As for the enigmatic Connor Dowd, he was obviously more than just a nurse, although it seemed the doctor was unaware of that fact. It was a risk, trusting the humans to keep Kelev's presence a secret, but there didn't seem to be any other choice.

It should have come as a surprise to him to discover that a human doctor had opened a medical clinic in the Shengars, but somehow it didn't. Humans seemed to have a talent for popping up where you least expected them. Glancing around impatiently for his Coridanite contact - was the man ever on time? - Tholos thought back to his first encounter with humans, at the Vulcan monastery at P'Jem. The Ahm Tal had long had reliable information that their enemies were using the monastery as a cover for their spying on Andoria, but somehow the Guard had never been able to uncover their listening station. Acting on a tip from an informant who worked on one of the cargo ships supplying the monastery, Tholos had convinced his commanding officer to make one last attempt to discover the truth. Of course, Commander Shran hadn't really required much persuasion, being as eager as his second to expose the Vulcans, inexplicably viewed by half the sector as paragons of honesty, in all their deceptive treachery.

Into this volatile situation had come the human Captain Archer and his officers, one of them a Vulcan. Members of an alien species never before encountered by Andorians, the pink-skins had seemed in league with the enemy, and their professions of innocence, their claims that they had been prompted to visit P'Jem by simple curiosity, had been treated with the scorn such seemingly obvious lies had deserved. Tholos had certainly not believed their protestations, and had even suggested beheading a few monks, during Commander Shran's interrogation of the human captain. What were a few Vulcan monks more or less, after all? Unlikely as it seemed, however, the arrival of Archer and his subordinates at that time had indeed been by purest chance. Visiting an alien shrine because one happened to be passing by was just the sort of thing a human was likely to do, he had subsequently learned.

New to spacefaring, their species seemed eager to see everything they could, and willing to believe that everyone they met was a potential friend. Even after their own rough first contact, in which Archer had been assaulted (and his science officer deliberately insulted), when the truth about the monastery had emerged, they had taken sides with the Andorians. They had a sense of honor, even if that honor was not Andorian, and they clung to it in the face of every challenge. Shortly after being beaten by Shran, Archer had been determined to do his attacker's people justice. He had also, despite numerous professions of distaste for the Vulcans, been willing to defend his Vulcan science officer, both from Tholos himself, intent on provoking a response from the monks with his suggestive comments, and later on, from her own people. They had a way of defying expectations, these humans, with their desire to know the cosmos, and their unlooked-for generosity toward friend and foe alike. No doubt Dr. Cameron's presence on Coridan was yet another example of the human passion for exploration and seemingly inexhaustible eagerness to come to the aid of everyone they met.

Tholos stiffened as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. "Commander?" a soft voice enquired, and Mareg emerged from the fog a few feet away.

"Good, you're here," he replied, speaking just as quietly as his informant. The Shengars were a crowded place, and with this fog limiting his vision, it was difficult to see if anyone else was near. Annoying as it was, the commander realized suddenly, the mist might prove quite useful in the work before him that night.

"How did you find Commander Kelev?" the Coridanite man asked.

"Not well," Tholos replied briefly, before turning fully to face the other man. "I thank you for caring for him this last month."

"It was my brother Lorat who found him, and his family who took him in. I spend most of my time at the compound with the Rashan."

"Thank your brother for me," Tholos replied, uncomfortable with the knowledge that he owed his informant's family such a debt. He would have to repay it somehow...

"He was glad to do it," the Coridanite replied. "Commander Kelev is well liked." He stopped there, although his listener immediately understood the unspoken, perhaps even unconscious addendum that he, Tholos, was not as well liked. The Andorian commander was not offended. From the time he had first known him, Kelev had been the more popular of the two. His antennae almost wiggled in amusement. The more popular?! It wouldn't have taken much to be more popular than he had been, with his Dara background and his naturally taciturn demeanor. Kelev, on the other hand, had a way of winning the immediate confidence, even affections, of those around him, regardless of the keth from which they came, or the position they held in society. Apparently the trend even extended to aliens! Perhaps it was because of the unfeigned interest he had in everyone he met, although his charm went a long way as well, Tholos thought sourly.

"Where is the drinking establishment you mentioned?" the commander asked, turning to the business at hand.

"To the north of here, perhaps a ten minute walk."

"And the men who attacked Kelev will be there?"

"Yes. They like to drink there most nights, before returning to the compound."

"You can point them out to me?"

"Yes, Commander," Mareg replied, before he turned and, gesturing for the Andorian to follow him, walked back into the mist.

Following closely behind the informant, lest he lose sight of him in the fog, Tholos strained to distinguish the sounds of activity around him. These odd and uncomfortable conditions didn't just impede his normally sharp vision, they also distorted sounds, making it difficult to determine whether he was hearing something close by, or whether it was occurring farther away. Still, what blinded him also blinded his enemy, and he would have the advantage of surprise on his side. Flicking his antennae - futilely, as the cool moisture that clung to them remained unaffected - he kept his eyes on the man ahead of him.

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what drove someone such as Mareg to join a dissident faction like the Rashan in the first place, if he was willing to betray its cause for money. His kind was useful to the Ahm Tal, of that there was no doubt, but why did they do it? Was it simple opportunism? A matter of taking the best option at any given time, and continually changing one's loyalties, depending upon who was offering the greatest reward? If the Coridanite's only concern was getting a reward, why hadn't he and his brother turned Kelev over to Toran and the men he had dispatched to attack the alien in their midst? If, on the other hand, the man had some notion of honor, however unlike it might be to his own idea of honor, why was he selling secrets for money? It made no sense.

Realizing that he was starting to think in circles, Tholos flicked his antennae in an impatient gesture of dismissal. It was enough to know that such people were not Andorians. Ahead of him, he could hear the sound of talking and singing. Mareg slowed, and motioned him off the path.

"It's just ahead, Commander," he whispered, gesturing toward the source of the noise. Tholos could hear voices raised, and glasses clinking. "The men you're looking for should be coming out soon. Toran doesn't like them to be absent from the compound for that long."

"Won't he question your own absence?" Tholos whispered back.

"Everyone knows Lorat lives in the district, and that I spend time with his family. When I'm not at the compound, they assume I'm with him."

Tholos nodded, and the two men stood silently, side by side at the head of an alleyway branching away from the main path. Soon the sound of voices raised in farewell could be heard, and three burly Coridanite men came through the mist, their voices slurred, and their steps somewhat unsteady. Mareg nodded at the men, and Tholos nodded back, to indicate he understood. The informant made a movement with his hand - a gesture of farewell?- and turned, silently walking away up the alley. Tholos drew his hrisal, and fell into step behind his quarry.

The men walked single file, the first and obviously most alert in front, with the other two straggling behind. The man at the rear, the one directly in front of Tholos, staggered, leaning against a nearby wall, and the Andorian commander's antennae curled in on themselves. It was almost too simple, he thought in disgust. The man in the front called back to the others, urging them onward. Soundlessly, Tholos stole closer to his target, waiting for him to respond to the leader.

"I'm coming, curse you!" the man shouted, his words muffled by the fog, and slurred by his own inebriation. Standing directly behind him, Tholos waited until he heard the sound of the others continuing on their way. Then, reaching around the man, he took him in an iron grip, crushing his throat and cutting off his air so quickly that he was unable to make a sound. With a quick, vicious thrust, he stabbed the man through the heart, holding him tightly in the brief moment it took his body to stop shaking, and then lowering him silently to the ground. Quickly, aware that his other targets were still on the move, he placed the body by the side of the path, arranging it to look as if the man had passed out, and set out again in pursuit.

It wasn't honorable combat, but then, these men weren't worthy of a traditional challenge. They had been ready enough to attack Kelev while he lay unconscious, and now they'd pay the price. The second man was dispatched in much the same fashion as the first. Quick and neat work, hidden by the fog and accomplished in total silence, it was far too easy to offer much of a challenge, especially for an operative of Tholos' training and experience. Arranging his second target much as he had the first, the commander removed a flask from the dead man's pocket, swiftly uncorking it and sprinkling its contents over the body. The scent of sour alcohol was almost overpowering, and the Andorian's antennae curled in on themselves again, almost as if seeking to escape the nauseating odor. Any passerby would be sure to smell the corpse well before stumbling upon it, and would no doubt take it for one of the district's many drunkards, passed out on his way home from the local drinking hole. Wiping his hrisal on the inside of the man's jacket, Tholos stood and set out through the mist, once again in pursuit.

The leader hadn't called back to his fellow drinkers again, no doubt impatient with their slowness, and willing to consign them to whatever fate lay in store for latecomers at the Rashan compound. Little did he imagine, Tholos thought with grim amusement, as he swiftly and silently approached him from behind, that none of them would be making it back at all. This one was far more alert, the Commander realized, his steps steadier, his reflexes undoubtedly sharper. Gripping his hrisal, he sped up, shifting from a loping jog into a flat sprint. One minute the Coridanite was plodding comfortably along, the next a blue shadow emerged from the mist behind him, knocking him flat on his stomach. Feeling a knife at his throat, the man ceased his struggles.

"Don't be a fool," he gritted out. "I'm a lieutenant in the Rashan! It will be more trouble than it's worth, killing me."

Tholos sneered. No doubt the man took him for a thief. "It is you who are the fool, for attacking the Andorian," he said softly, wanting at least one of the men he killed that night to know why he was dying.

Realizing who was holding him down, the man began to struggle anew, but it was already too late. Tholos slit his throat the next instant, muffling the man's final cry with his own scarf. Wiping his hrisal, he stood looking down at the man, feeling oddly dissatisfied. Thinking of Kelev, fighting even now to stay alive, he wished these men's deaths could have taken longer, been more painful. As always, though, duty came first, and he had a lot to accomplish on Coridan. Bending, he grasped the still-warm body and slung it over his shoulder. There was a marshy area between the Shengars and the sea that was infamous as a dumping ground for corpses, where the quicksand pits made short work of anything cast into them. He'd need to move quickly, if he was to dispose of all three bodies before dawn....

\----------------------------------------

Elinor was exhausted. She had been up all night, working with Connor to stabilize Commander Kelev's condition, and to get the outside utility shed set up as a temporary treatment room. Fortunately, because it housed the compound's generator, the shed had a power supply, and they had been able to set up a small device that would allow them to monitor the Andorian's vital signs in the hours and days ahead. The main sorting table had been cleared of the supplies normally stacked upon it, and converted into a temporary bed. The patient was resting upon it now, made as comfortable as possible by the two humans caring for him.

The treatment they had administered for his fungal infections had been brief and uncomplicated, at least in comparison to the lengthy process of trimming the necrotic flesh from his many wounds. Although she had administered an initial painkiller when Kelev had first been delivered to the clinic, Elinor had been hesitant to give him another, even though her use of the laser scalpel in cutting away his dead tissue must have been very painful. With all the shocks his system had sustained of late, it seemed wiser not to give him anything that might have a sedative effect. Despite that fact, her patient had shown no hint of waking during the procedure, nor when Connor had carried him out to the shed. He lay so still now, as she stood gazing down at him, that were it not for the low beep of the monitoring device, she might have taken him for dead.

Elinor turned slightly at the sound of the shed door being opened. Her assistant walked in, carrying the counter-top stasis unit with Commander Tholos' blood in it. How odd it had been, she thought to herself, that the Andorian had hesitated to donate, when Kelev was his brother! Given his strange paralysis upon entering though, perhaps it hadn't been unwillingness, but rather an after-effect of shock.

"We'll be all set up in a moment, Doc," Connor said, his cheerful tone giving no indication that he too had been up all night. "Have you ever given a transfusion to an Andorian before?"

"No, I have only read about it, and watched a holo-vid of the procedure. Fortunately, it isn't very complicated." As the nurse took out the first vial of blood and handed it to her, she reflected on the very different circulatory system that the Andorians possessed. With only a few veins, all deeply embedded in the torso, and far from the surface of the skin, it was impossible to give or take blood in the same way one did with humans and many other humanoid species. She would have to inject this fresh supply intramuscularly, and trust that it would disperse naturally.

"I think it would be a good idea to change the security code on the shed," Connor said quietly, watching her work. "That will prevent Dr. Togar from accidentally stumbling across our patient. If he should discover that we have a new code, we can always say that we changed it after noticing some disreputable characters hanging about, last night." Pausing, the nurse added with a slight smile, "It wouldn't be that far from the truth..."

"I don't understand why all this secrecy is necessary, Connor," Elinor replied, reaching for the next vial of blood. "I feel ridiculous, going to such lengths to hide Commander Kelev's presence. We've treated men here before that we suspected were criminals or insurgents, and never needed to hide it from Dr. Togar. Surely an Andorian commander is no different."

Connor hesitated for a moment, and Elinor unexpectedly thought of her brother. Alex would often pause in just that way after she'd said something he considered particularly naive, as if wondering how best to explain matters to her.

"The Andorians aren't meant to be here, Doc," he said after a moment, "and I don't just mean because they have no official diplomatic presence on Coridan. One of their treaties with the Vulcans - the Tau Ceti Accords, I think? - explicitly forbids them from interfering in Coridanite affairs. They do anyway, of course, and everyone knows it, but there's a big difference between knowing that something illicit is going on, and having concrete evidence of it. It could lead to quite the diplomatic incident if Commanders Kelev and Tholos were found here, especially in light of this new United Federation of Planets we've all entered into."

Elinor flushed in embarrassment. She really shouldn't have needed that spelled out, she realized belatedly. After all, she'd read the security dossier that Alex had prepared for her, when he'd finally realized that she couldn't be talked out of departing for Coridan. He'd hoped to prepare her for the reality on the ground, she thought fondly, even if he hadn't quite approved of her mission, or had much confidence in her ability to process everything he'd shared. She'd always been hopeless at that sort of thing, utterly oblivious to the political maneuvers and diplomatic subtleties that were the all-consuming preoccupation of most of the Cameron clan. With a mother who was an influential member of the United Earth Parliament, and a father who served as an admiral in Starfleet Intelligence, her childhood had unfolded against a backdrop of high profile political and security affairs which, whether discussed openly around the dinner table or treated with scrupulous silence, had dominated the family home.

Alex had been ideally suited to such an environment, always managing to be well informed about the latest parliamentary campaigns, always familiar with the changing face of interstellar geopolitics. Whether they were her mother's many political cronies or her father's Starfleet colleagues, her brother invariably knew who their parents' guests were and what to say to them. He'd never seemed to have trouble keeping everyone straight, nor had he ever been uncomfortable chatting with any guest in the Cameron home, no matter how celebrated or influential. From the time he was a young child he'd been the darling of their parents' circle, and their father had been known to declare, a note of pride in his voice, that Alex had begun networking with Starfleet's Admiralty before he had even entered high school.

With Elinor, it had been another matter altogether. Hopelessly tongue-tied in the presence of the many great personages that passed through the family household, she had been like a silent shadow in their midst - the quiet Cameron girl. She never had any idea what to say, and the few times she had opened her mouth it had inevitably led to disaster. There was the time she had inadvertently insulted the MP from eastern Brazil by mistaking him for his colleague from Venezuela, when apparently the two were bitter political rivals. The feud between the men had been in all the newsfeeds, and it had only been with the greatest difficulty that Grace Cameron had convinced her colleague that Elinor's mistake had not been meant as an act of deliberate ridicule. Then there was the time she had offered chocolate to a staff-member from the Vulcan consulate, blissfully unaware that the cacao bean had an intoxicating effect on Vulcanoid physiology, and that the staffer in question was noted for his stiff propriety and disdain for human frivolity.

She was never sure which was worse: the astonishment and vaguely contemptuous impatience with which her family greeted each new case of awkward bumbling, or the eventual entertainment that such incidents provided to the entire clan, when they were shared at family gatherings. She could just hear her mother now, relating the tale of Elinor's latest social faux pas, her smooth, cultured voice full of amusement...

"Doc?" Connor spoke gently, as if worried that he had somehow upset her, and Elinor gave herself a mental shake. This wasn't the time to be indulging in maudlin reminiscing about the difficulties of growing up in a family of politically active super-achievers. I'm here on Coridan to get away from all that, she reminded herself, to make my own way.

"Of course you're right," she said. "I just don't like the idea of lying to Dr. Togar, when he's always been such a supportive partner. If it weren't for his involvement in that last phase of our negotiations, I'm not sure that the Coridanite government would have allowed us to set up the clinic at all."

"Doc Togar is a great man, for sure. But we really had no other choice. I don't think Tholos would have let us continue treating Commander Kelev, if we hadn't agreed to keep his presence a secret."

Elinor sighed, and murmured in assent, knowing that the nurse was correct. It seemed that, whether she'd wanted to or not, she'd gotten herself involved in some political maneuvering after all. Suddenly recalling her conversation the night before with their Andorian visitor, she turned to her assistant. "Connor, are you armed?"

Her assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyebrows raised. "What makes you ask that, Doc?"

"Commander Tholos said you that were, when I told him we were here to help people, rather than to fight them."

"Trust him to know," the nurse replied dryly, his lips twitching in amusement.

"Then you are armed?!" Elinor asked again, too astonished to hide her incredulity.

"Sure, and it seemed a reasonable precaution to take, Doc, given that our clinic is located right in the middle of the most dangerous area on the planet. We're surrounded by Coridan's most notorious smugglers, black-market profiteers and terrorists - we need to be able to defend ourselves." Seeing her look of alarm, he hastened to add: "We need to stay safe ourselves, or we won't be of much use to anyone else, Doc. It's nothing to fret over, I know what I'm about."

Connor's gentle, patient tone made Elinor feel foolish once again, and she realized with chagrin that it had been naive - extremely naive, given her family background - not to have been aware that her own lack of concern for security wasn't shared by everyone. She thought once again of Alex, who had been inordinately preoccupied - or so it had seemed to her, at the time - with the issue of her safety before her departure from Earth. She had to admit, thinking of the brutal attack on Commander Kelev, and the sudden surprise visit from Tholos the evening before, that she felt a little bit shaken, and even a little grateful to have someone around who knew how to fight. She certainly wasn't any good at it, despite all of Alex's efforts to convince her to take up martial arts as a teenager, or to learn how to shoot a phase pistol while in college.

Laying her hand on the nurse's arm, she looked up at him. "I know you want what's best for me, and for the clinic, Connor, and I do appreciate it," she said warmly. "I just don't want us to develop an adversarial relationship with the locals, or to think of them as the enemy. We're here to help the people of Coridan, and to build bonds of trust and friendship with them."

The Irishman smiled down at her. "I'm with you, Doc! If I believed any different, I wouldn't have signed on. I just think we need to take some basic security precautions as well."

Elinor couldn't help smiling in return. Somehow, with his quiet confidence and easygoing charm, Connor always managed to make her feel better, even in the midst of a crisis. "You're just like my brother, Alex!" she declared with a laugh. "He's always trying to find ways to protect me from myself as well!" To her surprise, the Irishman flushed a bright red, and looked embarrassed for a moment. Then he grinned down at her, and gave a mocking miniature salute.

"All right then, little sister, I'll be taking this stasis unit back into the clinic. Dr. Togar should be arriving soon, and I want everything to look normal." Picking up the unit, he smiled down at her again, before turning and heading for the door.

Left alone in the shed with her patient, and the soft beeping of the monitoring device, Elinor reflected once again on how lucky she had been to find someone like Connor. Her family, aghast at the notion of her setting up shop in the notorious slums of Coridan's capital city, had wanted her to take a dedicated security specialist along with her. She'd refused, of course, insisting that all she needed was a nursing assistant. How fortunate that that assistant had turned out to be Connor! He was like a nurse, mechanic and security guard, all rolled into one.

Absorbed in these thoughts, Elinor was turning to leave herself when she heard the sound of movement and a low groan behind her. Whirling around, she saw that her patient was half awake, struggling to move. His antennae were twitching, while his hands were patting the surface of his temporary bed, as if trying to ascertain what he was lying upon. Rushing over, she laid a gentle hand on the Andorian's shoulder. "It's all right, Commander Kelev, you're safe here," she said reassuringly. Then, seeing that he was attempting to speak, she leaned down.

"Where am I?" the man asked, his voice a hoarse and raspy whisper. "And who are you? What have you done with Lorat?"

"You're at the free medical clinic here in the Shengars, Commander. My name is Elinor Cameron - I'm one of the doctors who run the clinic." Seeing his confusion, as he attempted to process what she was saying, she continued: "I don't know who Lorat is, but you were brought into the clinic last night by two Coridanite men. They said they found you, after you were attacked."

The Andorian's eyes fluttered open, looking up at Elinor blurrily. "You're human," he croaked out.

"Try not to talk," she replied, walking over to the nearby sink to get some water. Returning with a glass, she helped Kelev to lift his head enough to take a sip. "You need to rest quietly, and grow stronger. We're treating your phase infection as best we can."

The blue-skinned alien looked up at her, his gaze already sharper. "There is no treatment, Doctor," he said briefly, before closing his eyes again, as if even their brief exchange had exhausted him. He opened them again immediately, however, looking up at her intently. "When I die, I need you to pass along a message for me..."

"You are not going to die!" Elinor said sharply, unaccountably angry at the very suggestion. "You've survived too long to give up, especially now that you'll be receiving proper medical treatment."

"Doctor..." the Andorian began again, his patient tone so similar to the one Connor had taken a few minutes before, that Elinor felt an urge to throw something.

"You are not dying," she interrupted again, forgetting for a moment, in her passionate denial, that she herself had thought Kelev looked more dead than alive, just a short time before. "Your brother was here last night, and he donated his blood to you. Surely you want to live long enough to see him again?"

The commander went very still, looking up at Elinor with a searching gaze. "My brother...?" he repeated questioningly, almost as if he were tasting the word for the first time.

"Commander Tholos..."

This time it was Kelev who interrupted. "Tholos was here?" he asked, an intense, almost fierce note in his voice.

"Yes," Elinor said slowly, sure there was something about the Andorian's reaction she was missing.

"And he called me brother?"

"Yes."

"He gave his blood for me?"

"Yes," Elinor replied, continuing, "so you see, you cannot die..." But it was clear that her patient was no longer listening. His gaze was fixed on something she could not see, and he had an odd smile - half amused, half pleased - on his face.


	5. Moves and Counter-Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andorian Commander Tholos Dara and human Doctor Elinor Cameron have very different relationships to their respective cultural traditions, and very different views on issues of family, loyalty, and interaction with off-worlders. Shortly after the founding of the Federation, these two strangers come into contact with one another on the planet Coridan.

Dawn had come, and far out across the vast Eastern Sea, where the dark waters seemed to rise up and meet the sky, the first golden rays of light were stealing across the horizon. Elindal, the great star of the Coridanite system, was slowly rising. Silent and still, hidden in the shadows of the massive trees which guarded the narrow entrance to the Barad Peninsula, Tholos stood on shore, looking out at the restless waves, and at the rising sun. How different this ever-moving sea was, from the frozen oceans of Andoria! How different, he thought, was this rosy dawn, with its massive yellow sun, from the pale blue light cast by the star of his own world. Sunrises were few and far between on the icy moon he called home, often blotted out by fierce snowstorms. Alien as it was, he couldn't help but gaze in wonder at the calm beauty before him.

It had been a busy night, Tholos reflected, quietly waiting for the far-off light to reach the land. He had finished dumping the bodies of Kelev's assailants an hour before dawn, and had immediately set out to track down Roval, the current head of the Orugan. The Ahm Tal had once helped the man out of a tricky situation with the Orion Syndicate, and the commander had been determined to collect on his debt to the service. Coridan's infamous criminal cabal, responsible for most of the smuggling on the planet, was known to have its stronghold on the Barad Peninsula. Extending out into the sea at the far northern extreme of the Shengars, with the low marshes that separated the district from the sea spreading out to the south, and open water to the east and north, it was an isolated spot, one that afforded a clear view of anyone who might be approaching. After leaving the shelter of the trees, Tholos would be immediately visible to the guards in the stronghold ahead.

Determining that it had grown light enough to approach without giving cause for any alarm, the Andorian commander stepped out of the shadows, and began walking along the narrow strip of land leading out to the peninsula. Proceeding slowly, in order to give the sentinels ahead time to ascertain his identity, Tholos' eyes were fixed on the massive structure before him, reflexively running through its likely strengths and weaknesses, and analyzing the defensibility of its position. Its location on the Barad Peninsula seemed at first glance a significant advantage, the building's isolation providing a defense against attack by the Shengars' many rebel groups and small-time criminals. But from a military perspective it was far too open and exposed of a spot to afford much protection, especially against an aerial assault. The fact that it had never, to the best of his knowledge, come under attack by any government force, was therefore somewhat puzzling. There were rumors, of course, that the Orugan was secretly in the employ of the government, or was at the very least involved in passing information on to Coridan's State Intelligence Agency. Tholos would not be at all surprised to discover that this was the case. After all, if the authorities here were capable of working so closely with the Vulcans, they would hardly recoil from employing their own world’s hardened criminals.

Drawing closer, the Andorian observed at least two rooftop sentinels watching him, phase rifles in hand. He knew from prior reconnaissance missions that there were at least five such guards at all times, walking the perimeter of the roof and keeping watch for any approach, whether by land or by sea. Ahead of him, the door to the building opened, and two stocky Coridanites, each with a drawn phase pistol, stepped out.

"Stop where you are!," the one in the front cried out, as the two men walked out to meet him. "What business have you with the Orugan?" the man demanded, as he and his companion drew near, before stopping just outside of striking distance.

"I am here to speak with Roval," Tholos replied.

"Name?"

"Commander Tholos, of the Andorian Imperial Guard."

"Are you armed?" the guard asked.

Were they serious?, he wondered incredulously, astonished that they would need to ask. “Yes,” he replied tersely.

“You will need to surrender your weapons in the guardroom.”

“Of course,” Tholos replied, almost bored with the exchange. Did they really think they’d find all of his weapons?, he wondered scornfully as, at a gesture from the guard, he walked ahead toward the stronghold.

Twenty minutes later, sitting across the table from Roval, being offered a glass of Andorian ale, the commander once again found himself bored, restless almost. How pointless and unsatisfying all these moves and counter moves felt, when Kelev lay dying some few miles away. It was all very well to trust the human doctor to help, when there was so little she could do. Phase injuries were, after all, almost always a death sentence for his people.

Reminding himself sternly that duty was never pointless, and should certainly give satisfaction to any true Andorian, Tholos wrested his mind back to the matter at hand.

“Toran has grown reckless,” the Coridanite was saying, “to order an attack on a member of the Imperial Guard.”

The commander dipped his antennae in agreement. It had been a remarkably stupid move, he thought - almost incomprehensible.

As if reading his mind, Roval continued: “The dissidents here are well aware of the new interplanetary alliance that Andoria and Vulcan have entered, Commander. Perhaps Toran felt that he could no longer rely upon you for assistance, now that your people have made peace with their old enemies.” Here the man stopped, darting a keen glance across the table at his visitor, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation or denial.

“Change is in the wind, but the ice remains unmoved,” Tholos replied blandly, quoting an old Andorian adage. If the Coridanite imagined he could be baited into a discussion of interstellar politics and the Ahm Tal’s intentions, he would soon discover his error. To begin with, the commander wasn’t privy to the service’s long-term strategy, and if he had been, he certainly wouldn’t discuss it with an outsider, let alone a known criminal. He’d come with a very different purpose in mind.

Aware that he had been rebuffed, Roval straightened, finally getting down to business. “What can I do for you, Commander? I haven’t forgotten the aid you provided, when I ran into those bastards in the Syndicate.”

Tholos' antennae flattened back against his head, at the mention of the Orions. If there was any people more treacherous and loathsome than the Vulcans, it was those green-skinned devils. The first alien species his people had encountered, after achieving warp capability some three hundred years before, the Orions had launched a war of conquest shortly after their first contact, almost succeeding in destroying Andoria, before his people had managed to beat them back. It had been a costly war, whether measured in casualties or in terms of planetary damage, and the only thing that had saved his people had been the fact that most of them lived underground. Of course, that hadn’t helped those living in Lor’Nol and the other cities on the An’Dor continent, who had perished en masse when the Orion bombardment had triggered long dormant seismic instabilities in the region, leading to massive earthquakes, and a disastrous series of cavern collapses. In less than a day, entire keths had been wiped out, and his people’s ancient homeland - An’Dor was said to be the sacred wellspring of all life on his world, and had contained the cultural settlements of greatest antiquity - had been utterly destroyed. By the time they had driven the enemy from their space, more than half of Andoria’s population had been lost. It was the duty of every Son and Daughter of An’Dor to carry with them the memory of the fallen, and to be ever mindful of the destruction and sorrow that came from too trusting an attitude toward off-worlders.

“We were happy to be of assistance,” the commander replied, outwardly composed again after the initial, almost involuntary movement of his antennae. “But now I need the name of the faction to whom Toran sold our weapons, and an introduction to their leader, if you can provide it. I’m told it was a group here in North Shengar.”

“It was Galor,” the Orugan boss replied, his answer coming so promptly that his visitor suspected that the Coridanite had been expecting the question. “She’s head of the Halan Dor faction, but you’ll have trouble getting her to talk to you. The Halan Dor don’t believe in having any contact with off-worlders, whether Vulcan, Andorian, or otherwise. Their name, roughly translated, means ‘The Purity Party,’ and their slogan is ‘Coridan for the Coridanites’.”

A sensible position, Tholos reflected to himself, thinking of the many Andorians of his acquaintance who had similar feelings about his own world. Be that as it may, it did make his task more difficult. “Will you be able to act as an intermediary? I need you to convince her to return the weapons Toran sold to her.”

“Payment...?” Roval said leadingly, clearly having expected this request as well.

“We have weapons to trade. They are of a superior quality to the ones Toran sold her, with better sighting features, and a ten percent longer range. There are also more of them.”

“How many more?” the Coridanite asked, all business now.

“Twice as many. Fifty extra units.”

“Andorian manufacture?”

Tholos hesitated for a moment, before replying: “Orion.” His companion looked up sharply at that, but the Andorian maintained a stoic stillness in his antennae, giving nothing away.

“I see,” Roval replied. “Galor can be a bit... difficult, but for fifty extra units, I think she will agree to the exchange. The weapons are here in the Shengars?”

“Yes,” Tholos replied briefly, offering no further details. It was quite possible that Roval already knew the location of the Ahm Tal’s safe house in South Shengar, but he saw no reason to give it away, regardless. “If this Galor is cooperative, I will bring the weapons to any meeting point she requires.”

The Coridanite smirked slightly. Tholos had no doubt that he was perfectly aware of his guest’s reluctance to share any unnecessary information. One didn’t, after all, become head of an organization like the Orugan by failing to understand the power of information, or the importance of secrecy. “Wait here, Commander,” Roval said, rising from his seat. “I will contact Galor immediately and suggest a meet-up. She isn’t entirely friendly toward us, but I think I can persuade her.” The man grinned outright at that, clearly enjoying some private joke, before pushing the bottle of ale on the table closer to his guest, and turning toward the door.

It was midday by the time Roval had worked out a meeting with the head of the Halan Dor, and Tholos’ antennae were practically twitching with impatience. It had been more than three cycles since he’d had any sleep, and the idea of completing the exchange and heading back to the safe house for a few hours of rest held great appeal. Of course, his training would allow him to go on for many more cycles without sleeping, but he wanted to be in optimum fighting shape, should it be necessary.

Walking south toward the safe house, the commander began calculating how long it would take to transfer the weapons to the meeting place that had been selected. It was near the border between North and South Shengar, quite close to the medical clinic, actually, and not too far from the safe house. At ten units per case, it would not be possible to carry more than one case at a time, so it would take ten trips to ferry everything over, something that could easily be accomplished before the agreed-upon meeting in three hours. It was raining again, of course, Tholos noted in disgust, his antennae flicking every once in a while in an attempt to shake off the moisture that clung to them, but at least the daily downpour would keep the Shengari inside, and out of his way. The fewer people who saw an Andorian walking around the district the better.

Reaching the safe house - a nondescript, windowless shack located at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac just off the main thoroughfare leading from North to South Shengar - the commander proceeded grimly with his task. It was hard, unpleasant work, shifting the cases while the rain poured down in sheets, obscuring his vision, turning the warren of narrow alleyways beneath his feet into a soggy quagmire, and sending continuous streams of water running underneath his stiff leather uniform and down his back. Continuing doggedly despite his discomfort, Tholos found his thoughts drawn inexorably back to Kelev, and to the humans in whose charge he had left him.

What hope was there? he wondered bleakly, recalling how still and pale his comrade had lain, his body covered in bruises and cuts that were already starting to decay. His friend would die, as all Andorians did who sustained such injuries, and it was foolish to think otherwise, foolish even to have worried about the intricacies of blood donation and kethni politics, when his new brother would never awaken to confront his changed status. It was the presence of the humans that had led him astray, Tholos realized. Commander Shran had always maintained that it was a mistake to underestimate the pink skins, and certainly, their first encounter with the species had proven that to be true. They had a way of doing things that seemed impossible, and of convincing others that they could too. They had a way of making you believe that things which had never been, which everything in your history and experience had taught you could never be - things such as entering into an interstellar alliance with one’s long-time enemies, for instance - might somehow come to pass. Did their species even believe in the concept of the impossible? he wondered suddenly. Or did they wander around the universe as blithely unconcerned with the idea of limitations as they were with the potential threat posed by the many alien species they encountered?

Who would travel halfway across the sector in order to set up a poorly defended medical clinic in the den of utter iniquity that was the Shengars? Who would voluntarily spend time surrounded by murderers and thieves, with only a single assistant (and bodyguard, Tholos suspected) to protect them? Elinor Cameron, that was who, the commander told himself, his antennae flattening back against his head in anger. The human doctor was no warrior, and clearly had no military or intelligence training. It was infuriating to think of her blundering about, making herself a target for unscrupulous criminals and terrorists. Did such hopeful idiots not grasp that someone would eventually have to pay the price for their optimism? That for every reckless soul who rushed in, some other person, someone who had thought things through, and who usually had better things to do with their time, would have to rescue them?

Angry with himself for giving in to these thoughts - he had left Kelev in the doctor’s care, and what was done could not be undone - Tholos shook his antennae, trying to clear his head. Setting down the last of the boxes, and then resting upon it, he realized with surprise that it had taken longer than expected to transfer everything from the safe house, and that the hour of the meet-up had arrived. He had not noticed the passage of time, so engrossed had he been by his thoughts of Kelev, and of the human doctor. The location chosen for the weapons exchange was yet another of the Shengars’ seemingly endless array of metal shacks, windowless, like so many of the rest. This one, however, had a small second room in the rear, where Tholos had been instructed to hide himself, while Roval met with the head of the Halan Dor. Hearing the soft sound of footsteps approaching through the rain, the commander quickly stood, moving quietly into the tiny second room and pulling the door most of the way closed behind him, leaving just a narrow crack through which he could observe the proceedings.

Almost as soon as the he had hidden himself, three Coridanites entered the front room - a tall, strongly built woman followed by two men. None of them were known to Tholos, but he assumed it must be Galor and two of her followers, an impression confirmed a moment later when Roval also entered, flanked by two of his own guards.

“I see you wasted no time in getting here,” the head of the Orugan said, smirking at the woman standing across from him in the small room.

The woman remained impassive for the most part, although her stern face tightened fractionally at her fellow Coridanite’s mocking greeting. Looking at her through the crack in the door, Tholos was unexpectedly reminded of one of his instructors in hand-to-hand combat, many years before, when he had been a young Guardsman in training. Lt. Commander Danat Idrani had been remarkably stoic and inexpressive for an Andorian, her antennae unmoving and her face calm and still, save for the occasional tightening of her lips, when she was displeased.

“We’re here for the weapons,” Galor replied briefly, her level tone making it clear that she would not be drawn out by any provocation.

“Alien arms acceptable then, as long as no aliens come along with them?” Roval replied in an amused tone, evidently not at all cowed by the woman before him.

Observing Galor as she gazed stoically across at Roval, Tholos found himself wondering why the man was baiting her. Did he hope to gain some rhetorical or tactical advantage, or did he simply enjoy making others lose their self-control? If the latter, than he’d clearly chosen the wrong target, the commander thought, observing the woman’s composure with admiration. Here, finally, was a Coridanite one could respect.

“Your message said that we could double our weapons?” the leader of the Halan Dor asked calmly, ignoring her counterpart’s satirical remark.

“As you see,” Roval replied, gesturing toward the ten cases stacked in the middle of the room, separating the two parties. At a nod from their leader, one of the Halan Dor men stepped forward, opening the top case and handing one of the weapons inside to Galor. She handled the phase rifle with practiced ease, holding it up, and testing the sighting mechanism.

“One hundred units?” she asked interrogatively.

“As you see,” Roval replied again.

“Payment?” Galor asked, her phrasing and tone so similar to Roval’s own, when speaking to Tholos hours before, that the commander started. Looking at the two more closely, he realized that there was a certain similarity in their facial structure, perhaps pointing to a familial relationship.

“You’ll need to return the fifty units you purchased recently from the Rashan.”

“So. The Andorians are cleaning house then,” Galor observed.

“We aren’t the only ones with internal conflicts,” Roval replied, amused again.

The woman across from him straightened, setting down the rifle with a clatter. “Their conflicts are no concern of ours,” she said sharply.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Roval said, his tone almost gentle.

“We will take one case with us now, test the weapons, and return for the rest later if they perform adequately,” Galor stated, ignoring his reply.

“Lanaa...” Roval began, only to be cut off.

“We will leave first. If the new weapons are acceptable, we will return for the rest before the end of the day, bringing the fifty units we obtained from the Rashan with us.” Nodding sharply at the man across from her, Galor stepped out of the shack, her two subordinates following closely behind her.

As Tholos moved out from the rear room, he heard the Coridanite give a soft sigh. Looking across at the man, the commander considered what he had heard. “Lanaa” was a familial term of some sort, he knew.

“Your sister?” he asked aloud.

“Yes,” Roval answered shortly. “Family can be complicated,” he elaborated with a faint smirk.

Couldn’t it just? thought Tholos. “When do you think she will return?” he asked aloud.

“Within the hour, I would imagine,” the Coridanite replied. “As soon as she realizes the bargain she’s getting.”

“I will wait here, then, for them to return with the older weapons,” Tholos said. Roval nodded, heading for the door himself. Soon the commander was alone again, sitting on top of the cases stacked in the middle of the otherwise empty shack. He’d hide himself when Galor and her followers returned, and then transfer the cases of Andorian weapons back to the safe house. Then, maybe, he could rest.

———————————————————

It was just after noon, and the Shengars’ daily deluge was once again turning the district into a sodden mess. The rain came down in sheets, like a silver curtain that was always in motion. It was a lovely, albeit highly inconvenient aspect of life on Coridan, Elinor thought, as she dashed across from the utility shed to the front entrance of the clinic, splashing through puddles while attempting to avoid the muddier spots. Arriving breathlessly in the front vestibule, she stopped short just before careening headlong into Dr. Togar. The tall, elderly Coridanite smiled down at her.

“Seeking respite from the Longars’ daily blessing?” he asked, gentle amusement in his tone.

Elinor smiled in return, before glancing back out at the rain. “It’s beautiful, but sometimes rather too plentiful,” she exclaimed ruefully, wiping her feet on the traditional Coridanite welcome rug that filled the vestibule.

“We are at the foothills of the Longar Mountains,” the doctor replied. “They trap the rain fronts moving in off the Eastern Sea, and keep them here on the coast. Where I grew up, in the farmland to the south of here, the mountains are far from the sea, and the rain is able to move inland.”

“Did you grow up on a farm?” Elinor asked curiously, looking up at the man in front of her. His graying hair was neatly clipped, and his handsome face, with its distinctive Coridanite forehead, was clean-shaven. As always, he looked distinguished and well put-together, despite his surroundings. There were times when Elinor felt quite gauche beside him, a veritable child, with flyaway hair and clothing that, no matter how careful she was in looking after it, always managed to appear disheveled.

“Yes, after a fashion. My family have owned a large vineyard for many generations, and produce one of Coridan’s most famous wines.” Here Dr. Togar hesitated a moment, before continuing, a twinkle in his eye. “So you see, we do produce something of note, besides dilithium ore and space ships!”

Elinor smiled again. There was something about the older Coridanite doctor that always set her at her ease. He was dignified, but rarely formal, invariably helpful, and always seemed to welcome her many questions. His courteous manner sometimes struck her as old-fashioned, in the style of a fond grandfather, if she had ever known one, but then, perhaps she was misled by his age. What, after all, would she know of the fashions, old or new, on Coridan? Reminded by this train of thought of her exchange the previous night with the Shengari man who had helped deliver Commander Kelev to the clinic, she turned to her companion.

“Doctor, I wonder if you would clear something up for me. In the course I took on Coridanite society and customs when I first arrived, I was taught that in the absence of other titles, one addressed men as Garam and women as Ganar. I have noticed here in the Shengars however, that such terms are rarely used. Are they considered outdated? Perhaps specific to certain social classes, or limited to particular situations?”

Doctor Togar hesitated; an unusually somber expression on his face, and Elinor felt a moment of panic, wondering if somehow her question had given offense to the man she had come to regard as a mentor, over the course of the past year.

“Once,” the doctor began, “it was common for all Coridanites to address each other in this fashion, regardless of their social standing or region of origin. We had our hierarchies, of course, like most societies, and resources were never distributed with complete equity, but there was a belief in a rough sort of social equality amongst all peoples. There’s a word for it, in our language - Galanlot - that translates approximately as ‘parity of honor.’ But that was before the discovery of dilithium ore. Before our first contact with off-worlders.” Here he hesitated, and looking up at him, it seemed to Elinor for the first time that he looked old and tired, almost as if he had shrunken in on himself, while speaking. Struck with a sudden sharp sense of remorse, that her question could have effected such a change in the man before her, she instinctively moved to interrupt, to assure him that he owed her no explanation, when he continued.

“We have lost many of the old ways - some would say we have lost our way altogether - in this new interstellar society in which we now find ourselves, one small part of an unimaginable whole. Gone are the days when the humblest thing you could be was a smallholder or a fisherman, and the grandest a gentleman farmer or city merchant. Once, to become a criminal - a person of violence - was considered the greatest debasement possible, and to be a scholar - a person of learning - the greatest of honors. Now our elites are people of immense wealth, their fortunes amassed through the sale of our natural resources to off-worlders, or through the construction of starships we Coridanites rarely use. The common people no longer work on the farms or fishing boats, producing food for all, but rather, toil for a pittance in the mines, or in the starship construction yards, earning barely enough to survive. The city elites view scholarly pursuits as the preserve of the eccentric few now, and regard traditional Coridanite cultural norms as outdated and embarrassing. They view their own workers as little better than dangerous animals, to be controlled and penned in in places such as these, and prefer the company of off-worlders, who provide them with the wealth and power they so cherish. The people, for their part, who were once so joyful, and who were known for their songs, have grown bitter and resentful. Criminal acts, once quite rare, have become common, and terrorism, unthinkable in times past, flourishes. Gone are the days of Galanlot, and of kinship between all Coridanites.”

Here Dr. Togar paused, as if to gather himself. Seeing her stricken face, he reached out and gently patted Elinor’s hand, as if to offer comfort in the face of the harsh truths he was sharing with her. “I apologize, my dear,” he said, “for burdening you with the melancholy thoughts of an old man.”

Elinor swallowed the painful lump in her throat, afraid that she might cry. “It is I who should apologize, Doctor, for raising such painful reflections. I am grateful that you always take the time to answer my questions, and that you have welcomed me here, even though I am an off-worlder.”

Here the older doctor smiled again. “It is I who am grateful to you, for coming to Coridan, and bringing your passion to help with you. I had tried for years to convince the Medical Board to give me a license to open a clinic here in the capital’s outlying districts, but to no avail. But you, an off-worlder, managed to convince them, the first time you asked. Your species is new to interstellar politics, I think, but the central government here is well aware that you have influence, both with the Vulcans and with the Andorians. Convincing those two species to enter into an alliance was no small achievement, and the powers that be here on Coridan are no doubt anxious to ingratiate themselves with your people.”

Elinor paused, struck by this observation. She had never really considered the motivations of the planetary government, in approving her request to set up a clinic in the Shengars, having just been grateful that permission had been granted at all. She’d proceeded as she had always done, oblivious to the underlying political and social motives of those around her. “Perhaps,” she said hesitantly, hoping to offer comfort to the man across from her, as he stood gazing out at the rain, a contemplative expression on his face, “perhaps Galanlot has not disappeared entirely. Why just yesterday, a man here in the district addressed me as Ganar!”

“Ah!” Dr. Togar said, his twinkle returning. “And what did he want, this old-fashioned Shengari? Did he come in for medical treatment?”

With a sick feeling of dismay, Elinor realized that with her thoughtless words she had walked herself right into a trap. Now, whatever answer she gave would require lying to the kindhearted old man across from her, lying to the man who had just honored her with his confidence. Why, oh why couldn’t she learn discretion, or practice the diplomacy that seemed to come so naturally to all the other members of her family?! She simply wasn’t any good at subterfuge, and hadn’t even spared a thought for the fact that she was supposed to be keeping the events of the previous night a secret from her Coridanite colleague. “Oh..,” she began, thinking frantically of something she could say that would be truthful but not incriminating, “he wasn’t a patient himself, just someone who came in.”

“Curious about us, was he?” asked the doctor.

“Yes, perhaps so,” Elinor practically gasped, relieved at this interpretation of her vague comment.

“Well,” he continued, “be careful. There are many good people in the Shengars, but many dangerous ones as well.”

“Oh, yes,” Elinor agreed readily, glad that the moment of danger had passed.

“Mr. Dowd seems quite busy today in the utility shed,” Dr. Togar observed, and Elinor stiffened again, the sick feeling of dread returning.

“Oh, yes,” she repeated herself, feeling like an utter fool. At that very moment, Connor himself emerged from the shed, crossing over to join the two doctors in the clinic vestibule.

“Well, Doc,” he said, addressing himself to Elinor, “that reorganization project is well underway.”

“Oh, yes. Good,” she replied, feeling herself flush with embarrassment.

“It’s a bit chaotic out there, Dr. Togar,” the nurse continued, “so let me know if I can get anything for you.”

“Of course, Mr. Dowd, of course,” the Coridanite replied cordially, seemingly unaware of Elinor’s flustered state. With a nod at the two humans, and a kindly pat on Elinor’s shoulder, he turned and walked back into the clinic.

“Everything OK, Doc?” Connor asked, looking at her with concern.

“I almost let the cat out of the bag just now!” Elinor exclaimed, before continuing, “I’m just not cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff.”

Connor’s lips twitched, as if he were resisting the impulse to smile, no doubt in agreement with her assessment. Instead, he asked sympathetically: “How long has it been since you last slept, Doc?”

“It must be at least thirty hours,” she replied, realizing as she massaged her sore neck that she was exhausted. She simply didn’t handle sleep deprivation very well, and tended to get clumsy and forgetful if she didn’t get enough rest. What she needed was a nap. But where could she go, that she wouldn’t be disturbed?

As if reading her mind, Connor asked: “Why don’t you run out to the utility shed and get some shut-eye? I’ve set up a temporary cot next to our patient, so you’ll be there if he wakes up.”

“But what about you?” Elinor asked, wanting nothing so much as to take her assistant up on his offer, but nevertheless hesitating. “And what of Dr. Togar? Won’t he notice that I’m missing?”

“Oh, sure I’m grand!” the nurse replied. “I could go days without sleep - I’ve done it before. As for the doctor, leave him to me.”

Elinor had wanted to keep arguing, feeling that as the doctor, it was she who should stay up the longest, but it had been a struggle to even keep her eyes open, and she had yielded to Connor’s suggestion. Three hours after sneaking out to the utility shed, she awoke with a start, sure that there was something important to which she needed to attend. But what? The rain beat a steady tattoo on the shed’s metal roof above her, the sound intermingling with the regular low beep of the monitoring device, but otherwise everything was still. Then a soft cough came from the sorting table beside her, and a raspy but amused voice observed: “I see that you’re awake.”

“Oh!” she gasped, startled to see her patient, awake and apparently quite lucid, lying on his side at the edge of the converted sorting table, and looking down at her. Fumbling with her blanket, she sat up, still somewhat groggy. “Commander Kelev...” she exclaimed, but cut off, her head suddenly swimming from the abrupt change of position.

The Andorian above regarded her steadily, his antennae cocked forward at her in a way that somehow struck her as inquisitive. “Are you feeling unwell, Doctor?” he asked so solicitously - for all the world as if he were the doctor and she the patient - that Elinor almost laughed aloud. For one wild moment she felt as if she had woken up in some parallel, upside down dimension. Telling herself sternly not to get hysterical, she stood, resolutely ignoring the dizzy sensation that accompanied the movement.

“I’m quite well, Commander,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound both authoritative and soothing. “How are you feeling, today?”

Her patient smirked slightly, as if well aware that she wasn’t being entirely frank. “I have yet to return to the ice,” he replied somewhat cryptically, managing to sound amused and slightly surprised at the same time.

Observing him, Elinor realized that the commander looked a great deal better, his color a deeper blue than it had been even a few hours before, when she had checked up on him before settling down for her nap. Moving over to stand next to him, she picked up the handheld medical scanner. “Your fever appears to be greatly reduced,” she said, reaching out and laying a hand on his bare shoulder, “and you are no longer clammy to the touch. May I examine your wounds?”

The Andorian’s antennae dipped in assent, and he rolled over onto his stomach. As she peeled the bandage back from his phase injury, she saw with surprise that although it was still terribly inflamed, the flesh around the wound was no longer decaying or giving off a putrid odor. The same was true of his smaller cuts and lacerations. “Your wounds look much better!” she exclaimed, as pleased as she was surprised, given that he had lain practically at death’s door less than twenty-four hours before. “Do Andorians normally recover so quickly?” she asked, carefully replacing the bandages.

“Usually, they don’t recover at all,” the commander replied calmly, his face cradled on one arm, his voice somewhat muffled. Turning over again, so that he was facing her, he continued, “Only one in a thousand Andorians survives a serious phase injury. You must be a healer of great skill, Ava - a miracle worker!”

Elinor flushed, unsure of the meaning of the title he had given her. “We did nothing out of the common way for you, Commander...”

“Call me Kelev,” he interrupted. “After all, as the one who snatched me from the cavern of death, you hold my life in the warmth of your hands.”

Elinor hesitated, not sure how to respond. Although she was certainly no expert on the niceties of Andorian social customs, she was very much aware of the attention given to issues of rank and hierarchy in their culture. Was this simply gratitude? Or was she once again missing the subtleties of alien communication and culture? Did it matter? “Very well, Kelev,” she began again, “my name is Elinor.”

“Elinor,” he repeated, sounding out the word in a soft tone. “This name has a meaning?”

“It comes from the Greek originally, and means ‘bright, shining one.’”

“The Greek?” her patient inquired.

“The language of Greece, an early, influential Earth civilization, and a nation-state during the modern period. Today it is one of the national ethnicities from the continent of Europe.”

“An appropriate name,” the Andorian murmured, looking up at her fair hair. “Kelev means ‘outside fear,’ although you might also say ‘without fear.’ It is a traditional name amongst the Adana.”

“The Adana?” Elinor enquired in her turn.

“Adana is my keth name. The keth system provides the basic structure of Andorian society, and it has driven much of our history. I’ve heard the word translated as ‘clan’ by you humans, which makes sense, as a keth is held together by blood ties. You could also describe it as a tribe however, as the keths are quite large, and usually contain multiple, interrelated bloodlines. The Adana is a fairly small keth, by Andorian standards, and the only one to stand Kel’Dor.”

“Keldor..?”

“It means ‘outside the mother.’ We are the only Andorians who live on the surface of our world. The others have always lived within the shelter of An’Dor - within the body of the First Mother.”

Here Kelev paused, and Elinor noted with contrition that he looked exhausted. Of course he did – why he was still recovering from terrible wounds! What had she been thinking, allowing him to speak for so long? “That’s enough talk for now,” she said, reaching out and gently pushing him back down onto his makeshift bed. “You need to rest and recover.” He lay back, apparently compliant, although his antennae were wiggling about in a way that Elinor found difficult to interpret. She had a sneaking suspicion however, that he was laughing at her. Pushing that thought, and her instinctive feeling of embarrassment aside - was she blushing again, she wondered? - she resolutely returned to her earlier train of thought.

“As I was saying before, we haven’t really taken any extraordinary steps in your treatment. We gave you some painkillers and antifungal medications when you first arrived, trimmed your wounds to excise the necrotic flesh, and gave you a blood transfusion. I honestly have no idea why you are doing so well, although I’m pleased, of course.”

“Of course...” he murmured in reply, his eyes suddenly bright, and his antennae angled forward, as if drawn in her direction like needles to a lodestone. Elinor found the effect of watching those slender appendages almost hypnotic, and had to give herself a shake, to clear her head. The Andorian on the table before her smirked slightly, as if perfectly aware of her response to him. “How,” he asked, finally speaking again, “how in An’Dor’s name did a timid little pink skin doctor manage to convince Tholos Dara to give his blood to an Outsider...?” His voice was soft and sibilant, his tone gentle and almost contemplative, as if he were thinking aloud, rather than speaking directly to her. “What could you have said to him, Ava, that would persuade him?”

Elinor hesitated, at a loss. Had she said anything to the commander? Had she made any arguments at all? Under her patient’s steady gaze, she floundered, unable to recall the exact circumstances of her exchange with the intimidating Commander Tholos, but sure somehow, that she needed to answer the question. “I’m... I’m not sure, Comman-, that is, Kelev,” she began. “I asked him to donate, of course, but I’m not sure I said anything to him at all, really, to convince him.”

“Nothing at all?” the blue-skinned alien inquired, his tone somehow both gentle and commanding, his attention unnerving, with its unwavering focus.

“No, nothing. I... I just assumed he would do it.”

“You assumed he would do it?” Kelev repeated, as if trying to parse her words for some hidden meaning.

“Well, why shouldn’t he?!” she demanded, losing her composure in the face of that terrible feeling, as familiar to her as breathing, that once again she, Elinor Cameron, was the only one in the room who didn’t know what was going on. “Why shouldn’t he?” she repeated.

“Tholos is a son of the Dara, and not a minor branch either,” Kelev replied. At her look of incomprehension, he sighed, elaborating: “Keth Dara isn’t known to embrace outsiders, whether that be we Kel’Dor’An, or you off-worlders. They barely manage to tolerate Keth Idrani!” Here he snorted, evidently amused by this evidence of mistrust in his fellow Andorians 

“Keth Dara?” Elinor asked uncertainly. “But I thought you and the commander were brothers…” here she stopped. There was no mistaking the sardonic expression of Kelev’s left antenna, as he cocked it in her direction.

“We are now,” he replied laconically, his antennae wiggling about in that way that Elinor was beginning to realize indicated amusement. Looking up at the roof with that slight smirk of his, he continued: “It’s a difficult thing to become, Tholos Dara’s brother, but if you can manage it, the rewards are not to be scorned.” 

“And is it less worthwhile, to be Kelev Adana’s brother?” she inquired curiously

At this Kelev’s amusement disappeared, and he looked at her with a sudden fierce intensity. “Now that is truth,“ he said “and a remark worthy of the Kel’Dor’An.” Reaching up, he gently brushed her cheek with one finger. “Aren’t you full of surprises, Ava?”

“What does that mean?” Elinor asked, blushing at this unexpected caress.

“Ava?”

“Yes.”

He smiled roguishly up at her, his eyes seeming to twinkle, his antennae once again focused determinedly in her direction. “Treasure. Ava means treasure.”


	6. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andorian Commander Tholos Dara and human Doctor Elinor Cameron have very different relationships to their respective cultural traditions, and very different views on issues of family, loyalty, and interaction with off-worlders. Shortly after the founding of the Federation, these two strangers come into contact with one another on the planet Coridan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgments:
> 
> Many thanks to Casper and Emily, who helped me proofread and edit this latest chapter.

Tradition - Chapter Six: Revelations

Hiding in a drab, gray room in the dim twilight of another world's most notorious slum wasn't a particularly glorious occupation, Tholos reflected. But then, Andorians valued duty far more than they did personal glory. They were not, after all, Klingons. He'd had to wait longer than expected for Galor and her subordinates to return with the Andorian arms that they were exchanging for the new weapons. It was fortunate that he slept so lightly, and had such sharp hearing, or his brief moments of rest might have left him unprepared, when they eventually did turn up, some three hours after he'd been expecting them. Alerted to their approach by the soft sound of footsteps in the rain - Spirits! Did it do nothing but rain in this An'Dor-forsaken place? - he darted into the shack's second room just in time, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

He could never have said afterward what alerted the Coridanite woman to his presence. It seemed unlikely that she had heard him moving, while still outside in the rain herself, and he was certain he had left the door cracked at precisely the same angle that it had been earlier in the day. Perhaps a residual current of air within the front room, stirred up by his hasty exit, had given him away? Or perhaps the head of the Halan Dor possessed that seemingly uncanny ability, so common in the warriors of his acquaintance, of sensing the presence of an enemy. Whatever the case might be, almost as soon as she entered the room, she grew still. Her subordinates, sensing her unease, likewise stilled. At a nod from their leader, they pulled their phase pistols from their side holsters. Inside the smaller rear room, looking out through the cracked door into the front chamber, Tholos likewise pulled out his phaser, his motion silent and smooth.

"I know you're there," Galor announced, voice stern and commanding. "Whoever you are, come out immediately, or I will have my men shoot you where you are."

Tholos felt his blood quickening in anticipation, as it always did before a fight, his antennae tensing up at the same time. "I have my phaser aimed at those weapons beside you, Coridanite," he called in reply from the back room. "If you fire, I shall as well, and we shall all die together in the conflagration!"

Galor considered this for a moment, clearly still inclined to press her point. Then she gestured to the four men beside her, and they lowered their phasers, holding them pointed at the floor. "Come out, off-worlder," she called out in a taunting voice, "unless you're afraid to show yourself!"

Tholos almost grinned. Keeping his phaser up, he stepped out into the larger room, confronting the five people before him. "There is nothing here on Coridan," he said with a sneer, "that an Andorian would consider worthy of fear."

The men beside Galor tensed, looking as if they would happily shoot him, but the woman herself regarded him calmly, clearly not at all intimidated by the weapon pointed in her direction. "So," she said, "now we see whom those murderers in the Rashan are doing business with."

"You don't seem to have any qualms about doing business with those murderers yourself," he shot back, gesturing at the five boxes of weapons she and her men had deposited on the floor, upon entering.

"I have a larger duty to my people to consider, Andorian," she said, her voice gruff with some emotion - anger? regret? - that he couldn't quite identify.

"So do I," Tholos replied levelly, keeping his phaser aimed at the weapons during the course of their exchange.

"What? No elevating sentiments about your mission to aid the poor, downtrodden Coridanites? No rousing speeches about how we Shengari are being crushed underfoot by those traitors in the central government, as they sell us all out to the Vulcans?"

Her voice was a whiplash of scorn, and Tholos paused. Did he know anyone, other than the ever-idealistic Commander Shran, who really believed all that bunk? Were there actually Andorians who thought that they were here on Coridan with any purpose in mind other than needling those green-blooded bastard Vulcans, and interfering with their supply of dilithium? It was policy to parrot such fine-sounding talking points, but surely no one took them seriously? The Vulcans too had their official rhetoric, he realized with a sharp sense of dismay, prosing on endlessly about the logic of non-interference in cases such as Coridan, where non-interference gained them valuable natural resources, but perfectly willing to interfere in other cases - on planets such as Mazar, or Earth itself, for that matter - when it suited their purpose. They had a lot to say, too, about observing treaties when it benefitted them, but little respect for such agreements when it didn't. One need only think of the listening station at P'Jem, to see that that was true!

When the woman before him shifted slightly, Tholos realized that he had been regarding her in silence for too long. Stung by the idea that there could be any similarity between his own people and their double-dealing adversaries, between himself and a Vulcan, he finally spoke. "Your internal affairs are of little interest to me, Coridanite, nor is your people's freedom. I am here to serve Andoria, and Andoria alone. If this world were destroyed tomorrow, it would be nothing to me. Your welfare, your survival, is your own affair."

"So," Galor said, a certain grim satisfaction in her voice. "So, a truth-telling alien at last!"

Tholos dipped his antennae briefly, his weapon still aimed steadily at the cases before him. His words may have been harsh, but there was truth in them. The ice take all these fine-sounding pretenders, busy masquerading as idealists while serving their own interest!

"Tell me one thing, then, Andorian," the Coridanite woman demanded, "since you have such a regard for the truth."

"Speak."

"The weapons we bought from the Rashan, they are Andorian?"

"Yes," he said tersely, seeing no reason to deny it.

"And was it you who sabotaged their internal power chargers, so that they would explode after being used for a certain length of time?"

Tholos hesitated, his antennae pressed back again his head. Was she saying that the weapons had been sabotaged? "We did nothing of the kind," he practically spat out, furious at the implication.

"And I should I believe you because...?," Galor responded calmly. "After all, if Coridan were destroyed tomorrow, it would mean nothing to you. What are a few dead Coridanites compared to that?"

"Try to be logical!," he sneered, realizing even as he spoke that he sounded like a Vulcan. "The purpose of arming the Rashan in the first place was to allow them to harass the central government, and to disrupt the production of dilithium. What in An'Dor's name would malfunctioning weapons accomplish?"

Galor regarded him in silence for a minute. "So you want me to believe that Toran sabotaged them?"

"You said it yourself - the Rashan are murderers. No doubt Toran thought he could get your money, while thinning your ranks at the same time."

The head of the Halan Dor regarded him steadily, her face a stern mask. "Very well. I believe you," she said at last. At a gesture from their leader, the four men beside her returned their phasers to their holsters. One by one they each hefted a case of weapons from the new cache of Orion arms and turned, leaving as silently as they had come. Galor remained standing, looking across at him. "We'll be back for the rest of the cases in an hours time. Don't be here, or we won't part so peacefully." At that, she too grabbed a case of weapons, heading out into the night without a backward glance.

Tholos lowered his phaser, which had been aimed at the weapons cache the entire time. He had an hour to transport the five cases of Andorian arms to the safe house, making sure of course, not to be followed. Fortunately for him, the rain had finally tapered off during his tense standoff with Galor and her men. If he worked double-time, and didn't encounter any Shengari wandering about in the dark, he should be able to get it done. Picking up the first case, he set out, walking south for a bit to throw any potential pursuer off, before doubling back along a narrow side alley. The mist that so commonly clouded the area during the nighttime was rising again, giving him much needed cover.

An hour and a half later, having transferred the cases in a record forty-five minutes and secured them in the safe house, Tholos was standing outside the medical clinic, considering his next move. It wouldn't be difficult to disarm the lock on the utility shed where, all being well, he would find Kelev. Of course, the humans might not appreciate his disregard for their security measures, as absurdly inadequate as they were. Just as he had decided to go ahead, his attention was drawn by a noise at the front entrance of the clinic, where the human nurse, Mr. Dowd, was coming out. Stepping out of the shadows himself, Tholos moved to intercept him.

"What is Kelev's status?," he demanded, without greeting or preamble.

The human, who had stiffened initially at his approach, flashed him a grin. "You'll need to see for yourself," he replied cheerfully, before turning toward the shed, and keying in the security code. He covered one hand with the other while typing, something Tholos found oddly reassuring. He would no more have considered settling on Vulcan to live, than he would have turned over his own security codes to a relative stranger (or a relative friend, for that matter). Of course, the nurse's precautions were amusing as well, given the ease with which he could override the lock, should he so choose. Still, one had to observe the correct security protocols, regardless of the situation, and he was glad that Mr. Dowd has some sense of the fitness of these things. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he followed the human into the small shed, and then stopped short.

Kelev lay on a makeshift bed, conscious, and looking... looking... almost well. Tholos practically gasped in surprise, before carefully schooling his face and antennae to disguise his shock and delight. His comrade's color was much improved, his face no longer the chalky white hue which heralded the onset of an Andorian's final death throes. His eyes were bright, his antennae alertly cocked, and he lay propped up, his head and upper torso kept slightly elevated by makeshift pillows. He looked up as they came into the shed, and a slight smirk played about his mouth, as his eyes met Tholos' own.

"Brother!," he exclaimed, a distinctly satirical note in his voice. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you!"

Tholos felt himself flush, an uncomfortable tension overtaking his antennae. Clearly Kelev was already aware of the blood transfusion. Was he angry that the decision to give him Dara blood had been made without his consent? Was his greeting a reproach, or perhaps even a form of mockery? It had always been difficult for him to tell just what the other male was thinking, and this present occasion was no exception. From the time of their first meeting as young Guardsmen-in-training, the Kel'Dor'At's evident amusement at situations that would have made another Andorian uncomfortable or even hostile, and his seeming indifference to Tholos' status as the grandson of Talat Dara, had made the commander feel somewhat off-kilter and unsure of himself. With that peculiar mixture of fondness and uncertainty that the Outsider always seemed to elicit in him, Tholos recalled how surprised he had been to discover, in those early days of their unlikely friendship, that the attraction he had felt was reciprocated. How unprepared he had been when Kelev, his first playmate and sexual partner, had set out to seduce him.

Delicately flicking his antennae to dispel these thoughts, Tholos cleared his throat, making that distinctive humming sound Andorians often used as a precursor to speech, when still unsure of what to say. Kelev's eyes practically sparkled, and his antennae wiggled in open amusement, leading the commander to suspect that his new blood brother was all too aware of the trajectory of his thoughts. Quelling the instinctive quiver of awareness this sent down his antennae, he turned to matters of business.

"Report," he demanded tersely, choosing to ignore for the moment both the question of Kelev's unexpected return to good health, and his new status (willing or no) as a son of the Dara. "How were you overcome, Commander?" Kelev sobered instantly, his antennae straightening themselves out, his body tensing as if attempting to come to attention, even in his recumbent position. Tholos felt a momentary pang of regret at his own harshness, before ruthlessly crushing the sensation - this was a matter of duty, not feeling.

"I arrived one month ago, Commander," the injured male began, his antennae swiveling briefly in the direction of the human nurse, as if to ascertain whether he ought to continue. It was a relief to Tholos to find that his comrade was still capable of some discretion, despite his recent incapacitation. Dipping his right antenna slightly forward, he indicated that Kelev should proceed, trusting that he would do so with caution. "I arranged a meeting immediately after stowing the cargo entrusted to me, in the usual place," he continued, managing to convey the necessary information without mentioning any specifics. "I could sense something was wrong almost from the beginning of the meeting, but by that time I was already in the compound, heavily outnumbered. I played along, although I suspected that there was some difficulty about the exchange. Our friend," here he paused, grimacing at his use of the word. Tholos felt his antennae flatten back at the thought of Toran, who, unlike Kelev's actual assailants, had yet to pay for his treachery. "Our friend also played along, pretending to agree to the exchange. When I left the compound however, I was followed."

"You were aware of their pursuit from the beginning?" Tholos asked.

"Yes. I knew that I was being followed, and was prepared for an attack from the rear. What I didn't realize was that they had split up, under cover of the mist, and that I was being driven into an ambush up ahead. By the time I understood the danger, I had already been hit by their particle weapon, and was on the ground, being beaten. I must have lost consciousness, because the next thing I remember is waking up in Mareg and Lorat's home."

"There were three assailants?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Now there are none," Tholos told him, taking a certain pleasure from the appreciative way in which Kelev's antennae bent toward him, at this news. "Were your weapons taken?," he asked.

"No. My attackers must have fled the scene shortly after I lost consciousness. Perhaps they heard someone approaching. No doubt that's what saved my life."

"Where are they now?"

Here Kelev hesitated, and Tholos stiffened. It was considered a great dishonor for a Guardsman to lose his weapons. Allowances could be made for a fatally injured man, of course, but Kelev was, contrary to all expectations, no longer dying. It was an uncertain situation, he realized, not just as it concerned Kelev's level of culpability - had there ever been another case of an Andorian with so grievous a phase injury, who had subsequently recovered? - but also when it came to the question of how to proceed. Leaving aside matters of honor, there were the issues of security, and the success of their mission to consider. If Kelev's phase rifle had fallen into the wrong hands, it would land them right back where they had started, with an Andorian weapon in the possession of Coridan's insurgents. His thoughts were cut short by his injured comrade's next words.

"They're with Lorat, I believe." Kelev's uncertain tone did nothing to relieve the tension.

"You believe?" he asked, the sibilant note in his voice the only indication of his incredulous anger.

"They were definitely with me when I lay in his home, but they weren't on me when I awoke here, Commander." The male's antennae were tense and still, indicating that he was well aware that this could be a significant problem for them.

"And how likely do you think it is, that they're still safely stowed away?" he asked with a snarl, aware, even in his anger, that Kelev was hardly to blame for the situation. His thoughts racing, he considered the possibility that the Coridanite brothers had sold the weapons. Of course they had! Weren't they selling their own people's secrets to off-worlders? He'd known it was a mistake to believe, even for a minute, that these cursed aliens could be trusted! Before his thoughts could take him any further, there was a sound from the human nurse, a slight clearing of the throat. Both Andorians looked over at him.

"Actually, Kelev's weapons are here in the utility shed with us." Saying this, the male turned, reached into the storage cabinet he had been leaning against, and brought out a phase rifle. Setting it down on the temporary bed next to his patient, he turned again and, opening a drawer, brought out a knife whose solid, utilitarian handle and curved blade were unmistakable. Kelev's hrisal. "The Coridanite who brought you in came back with these a few hours after you were dropped off, and entrusted them to my care." With this, he handed the hrisal to Kelev, handle first, after the proper fashion.

Kelev reached out and grasped the hilt of his blade, which looked like a kethni heirloom to Tholos. No doubt it had been handed down in his bloodline for many generations. "Thank you, Connor," Kelev said, "I am in your debt, once again, for keeping this safe."

"Sure, and it was nothing," the human replied easily. "It was your Coridanite friend who took all the risk."

Although the nurse was looking at Kelev while he spoke, Tholos tensed, flushing uncomfortably. Perhaps he had jumped to the wrong conclusion, he admitted to himself with chagrin. Once again, it would seem, he owed a debt to Mareg and his brother. How much money, he wondered, would they expect in return? And how was it that Kelev, who had only been with these blasted pink-skins for a single cycle, was already on such friendly terms with them?

At a sudden soft knock on the shed door, all three men stiffened. Motioning the others to stay where they were, the human nurse approached the entryway. "Who is it?" he called, his hand reaching for the security pad. Behind him, both Tholos and Kelev reached instinctively for their blades.

"It's Mareg and Lorat," a voice said softly from on the other side, "come to see Commander Kelev."

How timely, thought Tholos sourly, watching as the human male opened the door, and the Coridanite brothers stepped through the entryway. Looking at the two men - Mareg in the rear and another male, obviously his brother, in the lead - the commander could see the resemblance between them. Their shared ancestry was clearly evident, not just in their similar build, and in the way they held themselves, but also in the shape of their prominent Coridanite foreheads and other facial features. Seeing Tholos, they stopped short for a moment before proceeding further into the shed, their faces carefully blank.

"We are here to enquire after the patient," the one in the front declared, moving across to the make-shift bed and offering his hand to Kelev.

"Lorat," the injured Andorian said, offering his hand in return, "it is good to see you."

"And you, my friend," Lorat replied, breaking into a smile. "You look much better than the last time I saw you. I left you a corpse, and here you are, a living man again! These off-world healers must be skilled indeed!" At this exclamation, both the Coridanites and the Andorians glanced across at Connor Dowd, once again leaning casually against the adjacent storage cabinet, seemingly indifferent to the suddenly crowded conditions in the utility shed.

"Don't look at me, gentlemen," he said with a grin. "It's Doc Cameron you'll want to be thanking. She's one in a million."

"Indeed," said Kelev, a slight smile flitting across his face, "she is a lady like no other! I owe her my life." Tholos shifted, his antennae tensing. A blood debt was a serious matter for an Andorian - certainly not something to smile about. As if reading his mind, Kelev cocked an antenna at his comrade briefly, before growing sober again. "I owe you a debt as well, Lorat. Tell me what you need, and if it is in my power, then by the Spirits, I will get it for you!"

At this, the two brothers glanced at one another for a minute, as if in silent debate. Then Lorat looked across at Tholos, his face unreadable. Now we'll see, the commander thought. Now we'll see what it is these two really want, and why they've been helping us.

"The money you've given us already, Commanders," Lorat began slowly, "has been very helpful. Our sister's son wants to be an engineer, but the training is costly, and can only be obtained in the city. We have used what you have given Mareg to fund his studies."

Here he stopped, as if at a loss, and Tholos found himself looking at the brothers in a new light. Selling secrets might not be an honorable activity, but sacrificing for family was something any Andorian could understand and respect. Now he knew why Lorat's home was so bare and bleak, despite the payments given to Mareg. What would they want now, he found himself wondering - more money for their nephew?

"We have had another use for the money," the Coridanite continued, his brother a tense, silent shadow behind him. Looking earnestly at the off-worlders gathered around him, he stopped again, as if unsure of how to continue.

"Speak!" Kelev said. "You are among friends!" At this, Tholos stiffened, and Lorat looked across at him with a small, amused smile.

"Very well. I will take the chance." Again he hesitated however, as if battling a strong compulsion not to continue. Tholos found himself tensing, his antennae bending forward in concentration.

"I am a miner," said the Coridanite, "like my father before me, and like many of the men here in the Shengars. We toil in the deep places of Coridan, often for months at a time, and get no glimpse of the stars. Dilithium mining is dark, dirty work, and accident and illness stalk the miner. We earn a pittance for all of our trouble - hardly enough to live on. While our families starve, the wealthy mine owners in the city live a life of ease and plenty. They..." but here he abruptly cut himself off, as if suddenly conscious of the fact that his voice had been rising in anger as he spoke. He grimaced, before continuing in a stern, but more measured tone.

"They have little concern for our safety, or for the welfare of our people. My father used to say that what we Shengari needed was some means of bargaining with the City folk, some leverage to force them to improve the conditions of the mines. We are poor and powerless, and our voices are not heard, but my father used to say that if we spoke all together, in one voice, then we could not be ignored forever."

"A union," said Connor Dowd, leaning forward eagerly, his former pretense at indifference entirely forgotten. "You're forming a miners' union!"

"I do not know what that is," replied the Coridanite, "but for many years we have been organizing a secret society, so that when the time comes, we can bargain collectively."

"A union!" Connor Dowd repeated, an oddly jubilant note in his voice. "On my homeworld, such organizations fought for generations to better the condition of the workers."

Lorat nodded in understanding, before turning to the Andorians. "And do your people also have such organizations?"

"On Andoria," Kelev replied, "we have professional guilds which oversee the work done in various industries and professions. The guilds each send representatives to sit on a central council, where decisions are made that effect the economy as a whole, and where disputes between different sectors can be resolved. Because different lines of work are often dominated by specific keths, it would be very unlikely for an owner to mistreat his workers. If they were of his own blood, he would become an outcast; if they were of another, he might precipitate a keth-war."

"There was the case of Thoran Idrani," Tholos mused aloud, "who ignored warnings from the Science Guild that his ice mine was in danger of being overrun by a swarm of ice-bores. Eighty of his workers died in agony."

"That was two hundred years ago," Kelev replied, "and he paid for his negligence."

"What happened to him?" asked Mareg, speaking for the first time.

"He was exiled to the surface, with no supplies, and died far from his keth and kin," Tholos answered. "His body was left unrecovered, was never brought back into the shelter of the First Mother, nor was he ever given Final Honor."

"Here on Coridan, worker death is common. Two years ago there was an explosion in the south mine. There had been warning signs that the area was becoming unstable, but the owner refused to permit a slowdown. There was a massive order to fulfill for the Vulcans, and everyone knows that they like things to be done on time." Lorat paused here, his face somber. "Four hundred miners were killed, and their families left destitute, but the owner was not exiled. He was named to the government's highest council by his cousin, our Prime Minister."

Tholos felt his antennae flatten back against his head. He'd known about the explosion, of course, but had had no idea that the one responsible had been rewarded, rather than punished. What in An'Dor's name was wrong with these leaders in the Coridanite government? Spirits! If he had been born a Shengari, perhaps he too would have joined an insurgent group. "Is that why you joined the Rashan?" he interjected abruptly, speaking to his informant.

The brothers looked at one another again. "The Rashan are little better than criminals," Mareg finally replied. "They enjoy killing the City folk, but they do nothing to help the people here. I joined because Lorat asked me to."

At this, Lorat put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Mareg is our spy in the Rashan compound. He passes us information about the various insurgent groups, as well as what he can pick up about the central government and the Orugan. None of them is a friend to the miner."

Tholos felt a tightness in his chest. He could sense Kelev looking at him, although he was careful to avoid his new blood brother's eyes, keeping his focus on the Coridanites. Caught in a moment of paralysis that felt somehow akin to the lor'val, he realized with a shock that he was experiencing a sensation that could only be described as shame. Mareg and his brother were not who he had imagined them to be. Nothing, it seemed, was as he had thought it to be, here on Coridan. Was this what Commander Shran had experienced, after receiving help from Archer, a man he had so brutally interrogated? Was this why he had gone to such extraordinary lengths to repay the debt he felt he owed to the human captain? Kelev, Tholos noted with irritation, did not look particularly surprised.

"We have been organizing for years now," Lorat continued, "not just in the Shengars, but in the other outlying districts as well. West Olar, the Longar Ran, Pranda - the miners there are all with us. We have been waiting for the right time, and we think it has come. Soon... soon we will all walk out of the mines together, and refuse to come back until our demands are met."

"A strike..." Connor Dowd said softly.

"A work stoppage," the Coridanite replied.

"A strike," the human confirmed.

"What makes now the right time?" asked Kelev, sitting up in his bed and leaning forward, his expression intent, his antennae fixed upon Lorat.

"The formation of this new federation has given us hope. If the Vulcans could somehow be shamed into supporting us..."

"Or at least into not supporting the government," Mareg interjected.

"If they were to make continued dealings with Coridan dependent on the improvement of working conditions, then our bargaining position would be greatly strengthened."

"The central government care more for off-worlders and their opinions, than they do for us," Mareg added.

"Vulcans are incapable of shame," Tholos declared, gazing stoically back at Kelev and the human nurse, who were directing almost identical looks of impatience at him. On this, he knew he was right.

"But they can be persuaded," Connor replied, "if one uses the right arguments."

"This is what we want from you," said Lorat, looking at the Andorians. "If you wish to repay us, than use your influence to convince the Vulcans to support our strike." At this last part he nodded at the human, as if to thank him for teaching him the new word. There was a moment's silence in the shed, and then everyone began speaking at once.

"I am an Outsider..." began Kelev.

"Vulcans cannot be persuaded," Tholos intoned grimly.

"There has to be a way to make it work!" exclaimed Connor.

"Tholos," Kelev began again, "is of the Dara. There is no more powerful keth on Andoria. His mother's mother sits on the Imperial Council."

The commander, suddenly finding himself the center of attention, cleared his throat. "The Dara," he began reluctantly, "are not known for their altruism."

Here he was interrupted by Kelev. "A blood debt doesn't require altruism."

"A blood debt?"

"Am I not blood kin to the Dara now?" Kelev asked, a slight smirk stealing across his face.

Outsiders, Tholos thought, were really rather surprising. He had been prepared for anger from his comrade, at being made an unwilling son of the Dara; had braced himself for questions, resentment, even a possible challenge. It had simply never occurred to him that Kelev would seize so willingly (or so adeptly) upon his new status as a means of getting what he wanted. Introducing him to the rest of the keth was going to be quite interesting. Tholos had a feeling he was going to fit right in.

Caught in a trap of his own making, Tholos gave in to the inevitable. He suspected he'd never get any peace from Kelev again, if he didn't. "A blood debt is binding upon all members of a keth," he confirmed aloud. "I will do what lies in my power to see that the Dara supports a miners' strike here on Coridan. As for convincing the Vulcans, that is another matter..."

At that moment, as Kelev lay looking up at him with a slight, smug little smile on his face, there came the sound once again of someone at the door. Whoever it was clearly had the security code, and as the door swung open, the human doctor, Elinor Cameron, appeared in the frame. She stopped short when she saw the group of men, gathered together around Kelev's makeshift bed, all looking across at her.

"Am I interrupting something?, she asked hesitantly.

"We're planning a miners' strike!" said Connor jubilantly. "Come on in, Doc, and join the fun!"

Tholos was surprised when the human woman did not respond in kind to the friendly words. "The Commander has agreed to help us, Ganar," elaborated Lorat, "to use his influence on Andoria to gain us interstellar support."

"Perhaps you should ask Mr. Dowd for his help as well," she replied, her face stiff with some unspoken emotion. "After all, he has some very highly-placed connections back on Earth!"

\--------------------------------------------------------

Sitting in the cool, comfortable waiting room reserved for visitors to Coridan's planetary Medical Board, the high-vaulted ceiling soaring above her, the beautiful marble floor echoing with the sound of every passerby's footsteps, Elinor reflected that the capital city might as well be on a different world than the Shengars. How different this beautiful, opulent city was, with its broad avenues, majestic buildings and carefully laid-out parks, from the squalid shantytowns that surrounded it. It was like passing from night into day, leaving the outlying districts and stepping through the massive security gates that guarded the inner city. How ironic that the beauty of the one was built, at least partially, upon the ugliness of the other. It reminded Elinor of those old Buddhist beliefs about the lotus, rising in beauty from the filth and muck of the water around it. Of course, that contrasting relationship was a natural one, evolving over time, whereas the one between the City and its outlying districts was social and economic, created artificially by the Coridanites themselves.

Dr. Togar shifted beside her on the bench, and Elinor dismissed these thoughts, turning to her companion with a smile. "What a lovely building this is, Doctor," she said to the older man, careful to speak softly, so that her voice wouldn't echo too much in the cavernous room.

"Quite a contrast to the Shengars, perhaps?," the Coridanite asked, a note of gentle enquiry in his voice. Elinor blushed. Had her thoughts been so obvious?

"The contrast is difficult to overlook, my dear," he said, almost as if in response to her unspoken question, "especially if one has just come from the outer districts." Here he was silent for a moment, before continuing, "Of course, most city dwellers never see the districts at all, preferring to bypass them altogether when leaving the city." At her look of enquiry, he elaborated: "They travel by air, by and large, when visiting other parts of Coridan. I use the air-train myself, when returning home to my family's vineyard."

"But you had visited the districts before we set up our clinic, surely," Elinor replied.

"Yes," the Coridanite responded. "As a young man I had some good friends from West Olar." Here he subsisted into silence, offering no further elaboration.

Elinor again looked around the massive waiting room, empty save for herself and Dr. Togar. The intricate mosaic on the floor, done in marble of various bright colors, was somewhat reminiscent of the sand mandala she had once seen created by a Tibetan monk, when she had visited the great monastery at Dharamshala. The broad outer border of the mosaic, running along the walls of the circular chamber, was a deep blueish-black, with what looked like bright yellow flowers scattered along its length. Within this outer circle, a seemingly endless array of smaller circular forms, connected by interlocking knot-work - more reminiscent of ancient Celtic art than Tibetan - could be seen. Like a necklace of beads, strung together by these delicate chains of knot-work, and forming a smaller circle within the outer border, each panel displayed a different design. Some showed symbols, at whose meaning Elinor could only guess, while others contained flowers, fruit and grains, musical instruments, or various objects of a practical nature. The benches provided for visitors were likewise arranged in a circular pattern, facing inward toward the center of the chamber and spaced so as not to obscure any of the mosaic panels. Elinor noticed that the panel just to the right of the bench on which she and Dr. Togar were seated depicted an open book, with a writing implement laid across it. The large inner circle at the center of the mosaic contained what looked like an old-fashioned medical instrument, somewhat reminiscent of an ancient Earth stethoscope.

The walls of the chamber, which held up the massive skylight above, were decorated with beautiful mural paintings, also contained in circular panels and connected by delicate knot-work designs. The scenes depicted were of a medical nature: doctors bent over patients, administering care; researchers sitting at tables, perhaps working away at finding new cures; explorers walking through dense forests, harvesting healing plants. Elinor was struck by the fact that most of the Coridanites depicted were women. One of the few exceptions could be seen in the panel opposite their seat, which depicted what she assumed was a historic moment from Coridan's past. In the scene, a group of women in hooded robes, seated behind a long conference table, were confronted by a lone Coridanite man standing before them. The man was gesturing with one hand, while in the other he held the same stethoscope-like instrument depicted in the central panel of the floor mosaic.

"Ah," said Dr. Togar, noting the direction of her gaze, "I see that you have discovered the great Nolar."

"Nolar?", Elinor repeated, looking across at her companion for clarification.

"The first male doctor on Coridan," he replied. "He was recognized by the Healer's Council - the precursor of our current Medical Board - some five hundred years ago."

"Were men not allowed to become doctors before that?"

"They were not forbidden, but it had always been Coridanite custom to view women as being more naturally suited to the healing arts. As those who bring life into the world, it was held that they were its fit guardians and caretakers. I do not think that any man before Nolar requested the honor of becoming a healer."

"And today?," Elinor asked curiously. "Are there many male doctors today?"

"We make up approximately fifteen percent of the medical profession, planet-wide," Dr. Togar replied calmly, smiling slightly at her indrawn breath.

"So few!," she exclaimed.

"Old traditions die hard, if not with our leaders, than certainly with our people. Many Coridanites, both men and women, still feel more comfortable being treated by a female doctor. Surely you have noticed that even in the Shengars, where one might imagine the people would be happy to see any doctor at all, our patients flock more to your care than mine."

Elinor had noticed nothing of the kind - what else was new?, she wondered wryly - so busy with her work that she had not thought to look around and observe such details. "I'm afraid," she began hesitantly, "that I can develop tunnel vision, when it comes to my work."

"Tunnel vision?," repeated Dr. Togar, a note of confusion in his voice.

"A human colloquialism. It refers to a state in which one becomes so involved in a particular task or idea, that no attention can be spared for anything else. One's field of vision shrinks to the path directly ahead, much as it does when entering a tunnel."

"Ah, I see. We refer to that as 'seeing through a hood,' as such a garment often hampers peripheral vision."

"Isn't it rather odd that our patients should prefer an alien doctor, just because she is female?," Elinor asked. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Dr. Togar smiled, his customary twinkle returning. "The first tenet of Coridanite medicine is to respect the will of the patient. Their sense of comfort with their doctor, and their acceptance of the treatment plan offered to them are necessary for the success of any healing process. In your absence our Shengari friends are not unwilling to accept me, but when you are there they often fall back on long-standing preferences." Here the elderly man sighed. "I won't deny that there are times when I wish it were otherwise, but one should not become a healer at all, if one cannot put the welfare of the patient first."

Listening to her colleague's gentle tone, Elinor was struck anew by her immense good fortune in finding him as a partner for the clinic. He was a calm and patient teacher, somehow managing to impart a great deal of information without ever sounding like he was lecturing, correcting so many of her cultural misapprehensions with no hint of judgement or ill will. "On Earth," she offered, "our history has been rather different. Although women were often healers in many early tribal cultures, in the modern era they were excluded from the medical profession, and had to fight to be admitted. Our Nolar was a woman named Elizabeth Blackwell."

"How... interesting," replied the Coridanite. "On what basis were women excluded?"

"I suppose the thinking went that women were not analytical enough thinkers to become doctors, and were too delicate to witness the bloodier aspects of medicine in those days. Women were viewed in many cultures as the weaker, more emotional sex. And of course, in some human cultures there were very strong taboos on women interacting with men who were not of their kin, taboos that men did not face to the same degree, in their dealings with unrelated women."

"But how could that be, if all the women were required to avoid men not of their family?," asked Dr. Togar in perplexity.

"How indeed..," murmured Elinor. Seeing her companion's puzzlement, she elaborated: "An anthropologist or historian could no doubt give you a better answer, but I would imagine that it has to do with having less respect for the honor and welfare of the other group, whether that meant another family, or the people of another culture altogether."

"So human men would encourage women not of their kin group to act in ways that they would censure, were the women their own relations?" There was a note of incredulity in the doctor's voice, as if he found it difficult to believe such a thing possible.

"Sometimes, yes." At the Coridanite's still incredulous look, she laughed somewhat ruefully. "I'm afraid we humans have a tendency to espouse social views, and to believe in certain religious and philosophical ideals, that we aren't always willing, or even able to uphold through our own personal behavior. Fortunately, most of those old taboos governing women's actions have faded with time. Although it was a struggle at first, we now make up more than half of the doctors on Earth."

"And it has proved a blessing for Coridan," Dr. Togar replied, with a small, courtly bow in her direction.

Elinor flushed, silently cursing the fact that even small acts of courtesy, no matter how kindly meant, always made her feel so uncomfortable. As a child, she had infinitely preferred being overlooked by visitors, to being made much of, and those old feelings had not faded over the years. "This mosaic is quite interesting," she said hurriedly, hoping to cover her awkwardness, her inability to respond in kind to sophisticated gestures and words. "What do the different symbols mean?"

The Coridanite doctor looked down, his eyes scanning the floor. "It is a galgarot," he replied, "an artistic form representing the Coridanite conception of the nature of life, and its place in the cosmos. Such designs are produced in many different artistic media, although this is certainly a magnificent example. I believe that Halnor, the greatest mosaic-worker of the twentieth period, was its creator." Glancing across at her with a twinkle in his eye, Dr. Togar continued: "Unlike medicine, the visual arts on Coridan have traditionally been dominated by men. The sexual dimorphism of our species has given our males far greater spatial acuity and depth perception, leading to the long-held belief that they make better painters, sculptors and architects."

"And has that changed as well over the centuries?," Elinor asked.

"Very little, actually. We Coridanites change more slowly than you humans, I suspect. Perhaps because your many cultures have given you a long tradition of conflict, adjustment and then resolution. We have had fewer distinct cultures, although our civilization has passed through a multitude of different epochs. In any case, women have never been forbidden from pursuing the artistic disciplines, any more than men have been from becoming healers, but few seem interested in such pursuits." Here he paused for a minute, before adding, "We have had many singers and musicians of both sexes however, as music is a universal pursuit."

"Is it?," asked Elinor.

"Do not the stars themselves sing?" the doctor replied, smiling across at her. "Look," he said, gesturing toward the outer ring of the mosaic. "The border of a galgarot always represents the cosmos - the massive, eternal stage on which all of the events of creation play out. You see the brightness of the stars, shining out in the deep darkness of space, calling to one another and to us, their light a symphony reaching across the seeming void."

Elinor shivered, moved by the older man's beautiful words. Had she thought those stars flowers? Had she believed the border to be merely decorative? How much meaning one missed, every moment of the day, just moving through life! Here on Coridan especially, there was a wealth of significance running along beneath the surface of her days, so little of it within her grasp.

"The cosmos is too vast to know," Dr. Togar continued, almost as if in response to Elinor's anguished sense of wonderment. "It is the border, the canvas, the stage - and the whole. Wherever we are in the circle, we are too small to encompass it all. Against this infinite backdrop, and yet a part of it as well, the never-ending circle plays out. Our lives, as individuals and as a group, are represented in all of the smaller panels you see here, in the second ring of the galgarot. The symbolic stages of development can be found at the four cardinal directions, while the pursuits and professions we undertake are interspersed between them."

"And the center...?," Elinor asked.

"The central panel of any galgarot gives an indication of those who commissioned it, and is meant to represent the core idea or activity around which their lives rotate. Here we see the dalor, an instrument that was once the most recognizable symbol of the healer's craft."

Before she could begin to formulate a response, a third voice interposed, speaking in a cool but pleasant voice. "Dr. Cameron?" With a start, both Elinor and Dr. Togar looked up, having become so engrossed in their conversation that they had not heard the approach of the ministry employee now standing before them.

"Yes," Elinor replied somewhat breathlessly, before gesturing to her companion and continuing, "and this is Dr. Togar." At this the ministry employee, a stern looking woman with close-cropped hair, in a long robe with the hood thrown back, smiled down at her.

"Indeed," the woman replied, before continuing: "the minister is waiting for you, if you will follow me."

At these words the two companions stood, following their guide from the chamber. The way they took was a winding one, leading along so many long corridors and around so many corners that Elinor was sure she would never be able to find her own way out again. She had always been hopeless at remembering directions. Finally, at the very end of the last corridor, they came to a massive door of intricately carved wood. Here the Coridanite woman stopped, reaching into a waist-level recess in the wall nearby, and using the small wooden hammer she removed to knock sharply on the sole smooth panel in the center of the door. At the sound of a voice calling from within, she pushed the door open, gesturing for Elinor and Dr. Togar to enter before her.

"Dr. Cameron and Dr. Togar," she announced from the door, "of the Shengari Clinic." At this she closed the door again, leaving the two doctors standing in the entryway.

A tiny, elderly woman, also dressed in a long robe, with the hood thrown back to reveal her snow white hair, was seated behind a massive desk on the other side of the room. Smiling across at them and partially rising from her chair, she gestured for them to come forward. "Please come in, doctors, and be seated. I am Minister Andan, the head of the Medical Board's licensing department." As the two visitors seated themselves in the comfortable chairs before her desk, she continued, "Togar I know of old," twinkling across at the Coridanite man in a way that Elinor found oddly familiar.

Dr. Togar smiled in return. "Andan and I are cousins, and attended the Healing College together," he said to Elinor. "She, of course, has risen to far greater heights than I."

"Absurd man!" the minister exclaimed affectionately, still smiling across at him, before turning to Elinor. "He has been offered a ministerial position three times now," she said, "but he insists on remaining a true practitioner of the healing arts - one who works with the people."

Elinor smiled at the older woman in her turn. "Our clinic has benefitted greatly from that decision," she said. "I cannot tell you how many times I have been grateful for his presence, how much I have learned from him!"

Minister Andan looked positively delighted at this statement. "He has always been an excellent teacher," she replied, with evident satisfaction. "I have it on good authority that he has been offered a position at the Healing College as well." So saying, she shook her head in mock censure at Dr. Togar, who had been sitting calmly throughout this exchange.

"I am a simple country man," he replied, "and do not seek exalted status."

"And how does this simple country man find the Shengars?," Andan asked, leaning across her desk and directing a searching look at her kinsman.

"In great need of doctors," he replied succinctly.

"Yes. So you have been saying these many years," she replied. "Your coming," she said to Elinor, "was in the way of a miracle for Togar, who has long argued for the creation of clinics in the outer districts. And now, I understand, we are to expect more of you?" Elinor was struck by the minister's delicately questioning tone, as if she weren't perfectly aware that this was the object of their visit.

"Yes, Minister," Elinor replied. "We hope to bring two more human doctors to work in the clinic. They are both graduates of the medical school I attended, and learned of our efforts in the Shengars through a newsletter that I provide to our alumni magazine, detailing our activities here. They are interested in coming out for a year."

"Are all humans so benevolently inclined?," Andan asked curiously.

Elinor flushed. Although there had been no hint of sarcasm in the Coridanite woman's voice, the question made her uncomfortable, reminding her of the many ways and times that humanity had been wanting in its benevolence. "It is not a question of selflessness," she began slowly, caught between a need to be honest and her desire to present the arrival of more humans on Coridan in a positive light. "Nor should it be seen as a one sided exchange, in which one party receives all of the benefit. Of course, we all want to help the people in the Shengars. But for our volunteers, there is also the desire to gain experience in the field. Dr. Togar and I, in the meantime, will gain some much-needed help. There is a possibility that I might need to return to Earth for a time, as our activities have attracted attention, and there is talk of starting a foundation to help fund similar ventures around the quadrant. In such an eventuality, having more staff would be a necessity. Everyone has something to gain, in bringing Drs. Chan and Ramirez to Coridan."

"An admirable sentiment," the minister replied. "I see from the documentation you have provided that these prospective recruits have only recently completed their full training. Do you feel they are ready for such a demanding environment as the Shengars?"

"I too was a recent graduate when I arrived," Elinor reminded Andan, "but I learned quickly. As I said before, I was lucky to have Dr. Togar as a guide."

At this her companion stirred, interjecting to say, "And so will Dr. Chan and Dr. Ramirez."

"It wasn't clear from the academic summaries you sent, but has either of them traveled off planet before?"

"Dr. Ramirez' parents are diplomats, Minister," Elinor replied, "and that has afforded him the opportunity to visit other worlds. As for Dr. Chan, I do not believe she has ever left Earth before."

The questions continued over the next hour, as Andan politely grilled Elinor about the two new volunteers, enquiring about everything from their specialization to the living arrangements that had been made for them. Finally, she sat back in her chair, with a nod of satisfaction. "Everything appears to be in order, Dr. Cameron," she said, addressing herself to Elinor, who had done the lion's share of the talking. "Chan and Ramirez seem qualified, and their letters of application certainly reveal an eagerness to work here on Coridan. My only remaining concern is with your security."

"Our security?," Elinor repeated in a questioning tone.

"We were assured by Starfleet Intelligence that Mr. Dowd was more than qualified to see to your safety, and that arrangements would be made with the powers that be on the ground..." Here she paused minutely, as if embarrassed to be acknowledging any authority other than the planetary government, before continuing, "arrangements to ensure that your presence would be acceptable to the locals."

"Starfleet Intelligence...?," Elinor parroted weakly, her stomach clenching in dread. She had not been aware of any communication at all between Starfleet and the Coridanite government, with regard to her clinic.

"Yes," Andan replied, consulting the pad in front of her before continuing. "We spoke with a Commander Alexander Cameron, I believe. A relative of yours, perhaps?"

Elinor was conscious of a buzzing in her ears. She heard the sound of Minister Andan's voice as the Coridanite woman continued to speak, but her words seemed to be coming from far away, and she couldn't understand them. All this time, she had thought she was striking out on her own! She had thought she was getting away from the Cameron influence, putting the atmosphere of secrecy and the feeling of being left in the dark behind her. And all this time the family had been keeping track of her, and making arrangements without her knowledge - as if she were still a child! While she had been congratulating herself on her good fortune in finding Connor, the truth was that he had found her. Did he work for Starfleet Intelligence? Now she understood why he had been so embarrassed when she had mentioned her brother! No doubt he had been sent by Alex to keep an eye on her. Did he send regular reports back to Earth?, she wondered, blinking her eyes against the tears that were beginning to form. I mustn't cry, she told herself fiercely.

"Dr. Cameron?" Dr. Togar's concerned voice cut through her chaotic thoughts. The minister had stopped talking, and was giving her a quizzical look. With a great effort, Elinor pulled herself together. There would be time to mull over this revelation later.

"I'm so sorry," she began, "I was somewhere else. You were saying?"

"Indeed," said Andan. "I was asking whether you had had the chance to discuss matters of security with Mr. Dowd, and whether his presence was sufficient to protect four people, rather than just two."

"Now Andan," Dr. Togar interjected smoothly, much to Elinor's relief, "we are hardly likely to be attacked..."

"Don't be naive, Togar!," the older woman interrupted sharply. "The Shengars have the highest level of criminal activity on the planet! Who knows what those people might do, if given an opportunity?" Holding up a restraining hand to forestall his words of protest, she continued: "I know that there are many good people there as well, and that they are in need of medical care. Recall that it is I who have always supported your efforts, and argued for you here at the Medical Board."

"I have not forgotten, Lanaa," he replied soothingly. "I merely meant to point out that the danger is minimal, given the arrangements that I am sure Mr. Dowd has made."

"And you feel that this will hold true, with the addition of two more staffers?"

"I have every confidence in Mr. Dowd. If additional measures need to be taken, I am sure he will do so."

Elinor sat numbly, listening to their exchange. Were they talking about bribing the local criminal and paramilitary organizations? Was that why they had had so little trouble since coming to the Shengars? So much for her belief that trust and friendship could be built through openness and the offer of good medical care! Feeling like a fool, like a child playing at being a grown-up while the true adults watched indulgently, she wondered suddenly if Alex had interceded on her behalf with the Coridanite government as well. Could anything she had done, since coming to Coridan, be considered her own accomplishment?

"Very well," Andan was saying, "you obviously feel that the existing security arrangements are adequate. I have to ask these things, Togar, both as a representative of the Medical Board and as your cousin."

"I am honored by your care," the elderly Coridanite man replied warmly.

"Hmph," the minister snorted in reply, a slightly exasperated look on her face. "Well, it's reassuring in any case to know that you have such confidence in Mr. Dowd. My report to the Board will reflect that fact." Here she paused for a moment, looking across at both Elinor and Togar. "Were there any questions that either of you had for me?"

"No, Minister," Elinor replied weakly, wanting nothing so much as to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Not at this time, Lanaa," Dr. Togar said calmly, a note of amusement in his voice.

"Then it would appear our business is concluded. If my recommendation is accepted by the Board - and I see no reason why it should not be - than the relevant licenses will be issued shortly, and we will expect Dr. Chan and Dr. Ramirez next month." Saying this, she nodded her head at them.

"Thank you, Minister," Elinor said as she stood up.

"I will have my assistant show you out," Andan replied briefly, her face softening somewhat as she looked across at Togar, who was also standing. "I look forward to seeing you again on Fifth Day, Lanaar," she said to him.

"Our dinners are the high point of my cycle," the Coridanite man replied, smiling slightly as Andan waved her hand dismissively at him, as if to shoo him out of the office.

Elinor was grateful that Dr. Togar did not attempt discussion as their guide led them back through the labyrinthine hallways to the waiting room, and from there, to the entrance of the massive building. Standing in the park-like space that separated the imposing structure from the wide boulevard in front of it, Elinor took a deep breath. The air was moist and cool, and the sky was darkening, as evening approached.

"You are distressed, my dear," Dr. Togar said solicitously, looking across at her with concern.

"I just... I'm afraid that..." Elinor trailed off helplessly, not sure of what to say.

The Coridanite was quiet for a moment, standing with her in the growing dark. "Andan has always thought me something of a dreamer," he then said, seemingly at random. Staring off into space, he continued, "She sometimes acts as if I were still a boy, in need of guidance and protection. My brother is the same... he thinks it madness to want to work in the Shengars. Every time we meet he tells me I should take a position with the Medical Board, or come home to the family vineyard."

Elinor cleared her throat, also looking ahead, rather than directly at Dr. Togar. "Does it bother you?," she asked.

"Once it did, a great deal. As a young man I thought myself a fine, independent fellow..." Here he paused, a sad look passing over his face. "Perhaps I was a bit naive, after all. If my years have taught me anything, it is that there is no such thing as true independence. We are inextricably bound together, most especially with our kin." At this he smiled across at her, before continuing, "there are worse things than thinking well of people, and wanting to help them. Just," he said gently, "as there are worse things than wanting to protect our loved ones from the hard blows of experience."

"They act as if I were too stupid or too weak to know the truth!" Elinor exclaimed. "Secrets! Always secrets!" At this she subsisted, embarrassed at her outburst.

"I can not tell you what to do, child," her companion replied gently. "I can only share my own experience. As I've grown older I have come to accept that my family expresses their love for me in this way. There have even been times over the years," he admitted ruefully, "that I have appreciated their protective nature, and have sought their help."

Elinor sighed, before biting her lip - a nervous habit she had had since childhood. She knew that the doctor was right, even if she still felt too aggrieved to accept it. There were worse things than having an overprotective, secretive family, she supposed. One might have a family that didn't care at all - now that would be truly terrible!

"Come," the doctor continued, interrupting these thoughts, "let me escort you home."

Straightening, Elinor shook her head. "No thank you, doctor. I have some work I need to finish at the clinic."

"Will you be all right?" he asked.

Elinor wondered for a moment if he was referring to her state of mind, or to the dangers of returning to the Shengars with nightfall fast approaching. Did it matter? "I will be fine. I need to have some words with Connor, in any event, and it cannot wait until tomorrow."

"Don't be too hard on the boy," the older man replied. "I believe he is truly devoted to your welfare."

Elinor sighed again. So was Alex, she had no doubt... but she could cheerfully wring his neck at the moment, just the same. "I will try not to fly off the handle, Doctor," she replied.

"Then I will bid you goodnight, and hope to see you in the morning." With these words he bowed slightly in her direction, before setting off toward the light rail stop that would take him to his own residence. For her part, Elinor set her face toward the east, heading for the massive security gate that separated the City from the Shengars. She would need to hurry, if she was to get through before curfew, and reach the clinic. Connor had some questions to answer...


End file.
